The Father Speaks In The Son
by saberivojo
Summary: John, Dean, Sam and Ben -Summary: A thirteen year old boy, a demon, and the journey of a lifetime. Protection, love and family comes in many forms. Is grand left auto genetic? Chapter titles by Metallica - Art by Tiggeratl1 "By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong." — Charles Wadsworth
1. Just When You Thought It Was Over

Title: The Father Speaks In The Son

Genre: Gen, PG13 for language

Characters: John, Dean, Sam and Ben

Summary: A thirteen year old boy, a demon, and the journey of a lifetime. Protection, love and family comes in many forms. _Is grand left auto genetic?_

"_By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."_ — Charles Wadsworth

**Prologue- **_**Just When You Thought It Was Over**_

He came home a quarter to three. He always came home a quarter to three, found his key by touch - it had a weathered yellowed rubber key band on it,_ easy to find in the dark_ - and jiggled the key in the lock. The tumblers fell, the gentle snick of the lock catching, uncatching, and he opened the door.

The smell hit him first, metallic and harsh and something else, thick oppressive and foul.

This wasn't all right. Terror skittered into him hard and fast, his heart pounded so loudly that he thought it might burst. There was so much blood. Everywhere. The floor, the ceiling. Scratches so deep in the hardwood floors that he could see subfloor. A gouge running from ceiling to floor and his mom? He wasn't even sure if it was her…but it _had to be_ her.

There was a something glistening and vaguely familiar but so inappropriately and obscenely perched on the lamp that his mind couldn't process it. Liver? Heart? Spleen? It was splattered – does an organ splatter? – on the lamp that he and his mom found at a yard sale. Neither of them thought it particularly attractive but Mom just had to have it.

He remembered her laugh, "It's only two dollars; you'll learn to live with it." They bought it and although he had laughed and teased his mom relentlessly about the ugly iron lamp, it felt oddly comforting.

_Iron is good. Not as good as silver maybe but good. Keep it around the house; you'd be surprised when a good iron poker comes in handy._

The blood was dry now, dark and red and cracked, but he could see where it had dripped down the cast iron. He cut his eyes back to his mom. _Was_ it his mom? A part of him felt like he should check for a pulse or gently close her eyes but he did neither of those things.

There was a noise then, a growl, low and rough. He trembled and glanced hard to the right. It had come from the right, hadn't it? He felt the ground shift under him. An earthquake? Was it an earthquake? Could an earthquake eviscerate his mother and throw her - he looked at the iron lamp again - liver on a lamp?

He could feel the sweat drip down his face and pool at the hollow of his neck, his breathing harsh and ragged. From the right a dark shape moved in his direction. Dark and smoky and loathsome. Human-like, naked and, even though he didn't want to look, between its legs was a profane version of a cock. Hideous and lascivious. He gagged, bile rising. The thing slithered and hitched itself in his direction, almost reptilian in it's movements. There was a scrape of nails and scales on the floor.

He couldn't move. He could barely breathe. Then from somewhere a voice bellowed in his head. The voice rumbled, dark and commanding.

"Christo! SAY IT!"

There was no denying the order.

He yelled the word without hesitation and the thing shrank back with a hideous screeching noise. It curled upon itself, mangled claws and misshapen body writhing in agony.

And he ran.

XXX

He heard the scream; felt warm arms around him and found the smell of man to be comforting. Man smell was different than woman. He wanted those arms around him. _Needed them._ There was no soft flannel, no smell of motor oil and leather, but the arms were real enough.

Suddenly it occurred to him that it was him who was screaming. Why was he screaming? The cop held him tightly, a bear of a man who smelled vaguely of coffee and cigarettes. He let himself lean into the embrace and although the screaming stopped, he shuddered and shook, sobbing like two-year old. Then the cop gently directed him off the porch, steadied him and led him to the front yard. There he settled for a minute under the Rowan tree that he and mom planted just this year.

He looked up expecting green eyes and was puzzled to fine kindly brown ones. The cop, _Burkholder,_ he read quickly ushered him toward a waiting ambulance.

He struggled then. He didn't need an ambulance, his _mom_ needed an ambulance, but the paramedic slid his arm effortlessly around his and there was a handoff of sorts, then soft words and "Lay down, kiddo, let's take a look" once again he expected green eyes but this time was met with blue eyes and curly blonde hair and a boy a little older than himself. Twenties maybe but quick and thorough.

He could hear something about shock and BP 148 over 90, tachycardia, diaphoresis. He didn't know what the guy meant, but he was cold and he allowed himself to be pushed onto the stretcher. There were blankets and a sudden prick in his arm.

"Just starting some fluids, bud."

Then straps over and around. He tried to fight then. The restraints, they scared him more than then anything else almost - not more than the blood and his mom and the _thing_. That wasn't scary; that had been terrifying - but the blonde boy settled a cool hand on his forehead.

"It's okay, bud…just a bumpy ride. What's your name kid?"

"Ben."


	2. Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

**Chapter 1 – **_**Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep**_**. **

Then there was the hospital all bright and white. Too bright and white. Doctors and nurses and a chaplain. Then social workers. He needed to be placed. Poor boy, mentions of PTSD. Hushed words. No family to speak of. How horrible. Animal attack.

None of it made sense to Ben. Well, except that his mom was dead. That was clear.

Psychiatrists with gentle, simulated concern that was so obvious it made Ben want to hurl.

The hospital became a psych unit in the hospital. Ben didn't feel crazy, but according to the doctors he was "at risk". At risk for what? Ben didn't know. It made no sense to him. Then again, maybe he was crazy because there _had_ been something in his house. Could he have imagined it? His mom always said he was an imaginative kid. Imaginative or no, Ben didn't think he could imagine that hideous abomination he had seen.

He decided not to mention it to anyone. If they thought he was crazy now, how would they treat him when he told them there was a monster in his house? A naked, twisted black scaly form that still haunted him.

Somehow though, the crazy must have leaked out somewhere because despite his best efforts, it appeared he was stuck in the nut house for a while. They didn't even let him out for his mom's funeral. They felt it would be too traumatizing for him. Always in his best interest. Parens patriae or something like that. Ben knew a little bit of Latin and he doubted the courts and the legal system knew what was best for him. Ben may have been just a kid but this place was not in his best interest in any way, shape or form.

The psych unit freaked him out. There were other kids. Some were okay he guessed, some were kind of creepy. Ben didn't care. It was wrong. _This_ was wrong. He wasn't sure why everything was wrong. His mom was dead. That was wrong, of course, but these people had no clue.

Unfortunately, neither did Ben.

Sometimes at night he would swear that he could hear soft-socked feet padding from door to door, window to window, latches latched, doors locked, salt down. The feeling of _safe and home_ would hit him.

But it had to be a dream in his screwed up head. They said it was normal to feel "displaced" and to have odd feelings. But this wasn't odd really; in fact it wasn't even a feeling. It was half-remembered, like a foggy elusive dream that he woke from and could almost catch the tail end of. There was something significant rattling around in his head. Something so important he should never forget it and then it was gone with the gray morning.

So he sat in "group" and he listened. Liam and his abusive father. Steph and how badly she needed her coke. Michael and his platform shoes and his studded belt said nothing at all. Occasionally he would straighten his spiked hair to a spikier point or lip at the place where the stud had been in his mouth. Just a hole now. There was Bri who had been there for months, who took her meds and drew pictures of butterflies. Then Carl – "Please call me, Carl." - would ask Ben how he felt and Ben would say fine.

Because he couldn't tell them he wasn't fine. They didn't know.

It was during "group" that he came to realize he was nothing like any of these kids. Addicted to coke? His mom would have killed him. Abusive father? Never had a father but again there was that nagging feeling that if he did have one, he wouldn't be abusive. Tough maybe, Ben would think. Kind of like John Wayne. He wondered if other fatherless kids thought about what it would be like to really have a dad. He had a mom and she had been pretty awesome but a dad would have been cool too.

He cried at night to himself but never anywhere else.

Psych in a hospital was strange. There were orderlies and nurses and a nurse's station. Carl talked a lot about "personal responsibility" and "coming to terms with the past." If Ben did ask him a question, Carl never answered it, he just asked another question.

"How does that make you feel?" Carl would ask and Ben would shrug. He felt like shit. His mother was dead and he was in the nut house.

Sometimes they showed movies. "Your Life And Loss: A Teenagers Guide to Grief." Or once in a while a real movie that was supposed to "open lines of communication". _How did it make you feel when "insert name" couldn't make his family understand his "insert emotion"? _

Usually they were stupid and Ben just slept. Sleeping seemed to be a wonderful guide to grief and it kept communication to a minimum, which was just where Ben wanted it.

You had to earn privileges like TV, or outside time, even "personal time". They never really wanted you alone in this place. There was a "dayroom" and puzzles. There were crayons – no pencils. Pencils were sharp. Don't give the crazy kids pencils. But you could color with wax crayons.

Ben was thirteen. He didn't want to color, or play with puzzles but he liked TV so he earned TV time. It was easy. Cleaning up after dinner, wiping down the counters, doing the dishes. It kept his mind off of Mom but was simple work and he would daydream sometimes. They had to be daydreams because doing the dishes was hardly a reason to bring back memories that he didn't have.

They couldn't watch the news but educational TV was fine so Ben watched the History Channel.

He sat by himself in the dayroom. Bri was coloring, Liam was sulking and Michael was laying his head on the table in the kitchen. Ben thought maybe he was sleeping but he didn't care.

He had earned TV time so the History Channel was fine. The history of guns sounded fine. Mindless. Perfect.

_Master gunsmith Jonathan Browning designed the Winchester rifle._

There was an uncertain swirl of emotions and Ben felt he might be sick. He heard nothing else but that.

Winchester.

It clicked then. Winchester. There was something associated with Winchester. Winchester, like the rifle. He wasn't sure if the association was good or bad but the bile rose in his throat and he made a choking noise. He was not going to puke, _not going to puke. _

He glanced wildly to the right and left. Liam was still sulking. Ted the orderly was reading the paper and Bri was still coloring butterflies. Michael was drooling.

Nothing was the different but suddenly things felt a little better. He could breathe just a bit easier.

He slept that night fitfully at best and woke sweaty, his sheets damp and his hair curled at the nape of his neck. He'd seen himself in the mirror – or what passed for a mirror in the crazy house. Sort of stainless steel with rounded edges; it reminded him of trying to look into the side of a stainless steel refrigerator. The kind in an institution - solid, easy to clean, and durable. Durable was important when you were crazy. Lord forbid you have a real mirror. Hell, if a pencil could kill, God knows what a jagged mirror could do.

Ben knew he looked rough that was true, there were dark circles under his eyes and he was paler than he had ever been. He looked critically at the face that stared back at him. Freckles bridging his nose and hair dark but a little curly now that it had grown some. He recognized that he needed sleep, not just the cat naps during movies.

He hoped whatever bullshit Carl was feeding him wasn't sinking in.

For some reason Carl liked to talk about how much sleep everyone had at night. It was as if sleep was directly related to the amount of crazy a person could be. Carl was really starting to annoy the hell out of Ben. Ben wondered if a crayon could kill. Periwinkle would be a great color. Stabbing a periwinkle crayon in Carl's carotid seemed unlikely though. So he said he slept well.

It was a lie of course, but everything was a lie.

XXX

The days ran into each other and Ben didn't care. There was talk of placement but for some reason, Carl still seemed to think that Ben might be a risk to himself or to others. That was another important question._ "Do you feel like you want to hurt yourself?" _Then there was the follow up question._ "Do you want to hurt others?" _

The only _other_ that Ben could thinkof was Carl himself. Ben found it odd that Michael and his piercings and platforms appeared to be in better shape than Ben. Steph left to go to rehab and a new kid, Connor showed up. Connor was skittish and if Ben didn't know any better maybe his drug of choice was heroin. But it turned out that Connor was just afraid. Afraid of everything. Afraid of Carl. Afraid of sleeping. Afraid to talk. The kid just lived in a state of perpetual terror.

It occurred to Ben that if Connor had seen what Ben had _thought_ he had seen, he would be catatonic.

Ben woke on a Tuesday morning after another restless night with the feeling that he was choking. He automatically reached for his neck to find a supple leather thong around his throat and dangling from it a hard heavy object. There was just enough light through the barred windows to allow him to see it. It looked like brass and maybe some kind of cow.

A brass cow seemed an odd thing to have around his neck. He held it up to the light considering what he was going to do with it. He doubted anyone would allow him to have a brass cow. It was heavy and pointy. The better to swing at Carl. Maybe the thoughts and extreme measures regarding dangerous items were not all that off the mark. Ben studied the necklace, felt the weight of it around his neck. It was a little shiny on one side, as if maybe it had been worn for years and years. He held the cow in his hands. Allowed his fingers to caress it, trace the cow's horns. It was cold, frigid in fact as if it had been in a deep freeze and then had been suddenly and inexplicably thrown around the warmth of his neck.

He liked it, so he carefully slid it under his t-shirt and wondered how in the hell it got there. It was a puzzle. Not like the scenic covered bridges or brightly painted fish puzzles in the day room. But it was strange. The only new person he was aware of was Connor and Connor was too afraid to sit in the day room, let alone walk into an unknown kid's room and give him a frozen necklace.

Michael – the kid might think it was cool but he preferred fake silver studs and Carl? Well, Carl would no more give him a heavy pointed cow necklace than offer him razor blades to play with.

Ben pulled the amulet up from under his t-shirt. It had settled comfortably there, against his chest and no longer felt cold. He studied the brass figure again in the dim gray morning light. On second thought, it wasn't a cow, though it did have horns. There was a noble face, a man's face, he turned it over again, Egyptian maybe or Burmese or something like that. It wasn't American though and it wasn't some dime store knockoff.

He closed his hand around the brass, feeling more than looking at it now. Ben had always been a tactile kid, he liked messing with cars and fixing things, he could feel the regal length of the man's nose, the indentations where the eyes were. There was a swirl between and above his eyes and Ben wasn't sure if the horns were part of a headdress of sorts of if they were part of the man. Was it a man? A god maybe? He didn't know.

Once again he slid it under his black t-shirt. It nestled there up against his bare chest and for the first time in a long time Ben felt safe.

XXX

It started out innocuous. At least it appeared that way. Ben started dreaming. He didn't remember the dreams at first he just woke feeling oddly more comfortable than he did when he went to sleep.

Then he started remembering the dreams. A big man, tall, dark with a scruffy, grey flecked beard and a voice that rumbled low. It was no one that Ben knew.

"Call me John." He said.

"John." Ben repeated.

The man smelled oddly familiar but that was the only thing that Ben associated with a memory.

John was standing with his hip against the desk in Ben's room. "Not too bad here."

"For a nut house," Ben amended.

"You're not crazy."

Ben shrugged, "They all seem to think so."

John smiled slowly then, "Who? Carl? He doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground."

Ben grinned. His mom didn't cuss much but he liked the analogy. "So, John. What's with the dream? I thought I was supposed to dream about flying or monsters chasing me. You know normal stuff."

John's smile faded and he dropped his eyes, "Monsters chasing you aren't dreams, Ben. They're real."

Ben pulled his legs up tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. The thin blankets and linen did nothing to stop the sudden chill.

"That's dumb, John. Monsters aren't real. Everyone knows that."

"You know that's not true, Ben. You know it 'cause you've seen it. You know it 'cause Dean taught you."

"Don't know a Dean."

"Yeah, son. You do." John turned then as if to hear some invisible bell or a voice that demanded his attention.

"We'll talk later and Ben, hold on to that amulet. It's important."

And then he was gone.

XXX

Ben never figured he liked to go to bed as much as he wanted to now. It seemed to concern Carl because although getting enough sleep was a determining factor in crazy, so was too much sleep. So Ben backed off, went complacently to his room at night and waited. He figured he fell asleep pretty quickly because John came all the time now – so he must be sleeping a lot. Sometimes though, Ben wasn't even sure if he was asleep. But dreaming about John seemed fine.

Hallucinating John seemed so much worse.

"Hey, kiddo." John rumbled.

"John." Ben smiled. He liked this man with low voice and the dark brown eyes.

"We got to get you outta here, son."

Ben tilted his head and looked quizzically in the half-light of his room.

"John, you do realize I'm in the nut house right? It's locked, there are bars in the windows and I'm not going anywhere unless Carl feels I'm ready to go. And even then I don't know where I'll go, 'cause I don't have anywhere _to_ go."

John shifted his weight a bit and narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, John seemed less comforting and more commanding. It was strange but John did that sometimes. It didn't scare Ben but Ben found himself sitting a little straighter and listening a little harder. It was stupid. John was a dream and there was no reason for him to more or less attentive to a figment of his own imagination.

"You have family, Ben." John said it with a firmness that startled Ben just a bit.

"John, my mom is dead." Ben knew he sounded a little bit patronizing but John just didn't seem to get the score, "I have no father, no uncles or brothers, not even a crazy batty aunt somewhere with a thousand cats."

John huffed, a sound that was both pissed and resigned at the same time.

"You _do_ have a family. You have Sam and Dean. And Dean? Well, he is normally a pretty smart boy but he made the wrong call here. He made it for the right reasons, but he was wrong." John seemed to think about his own personal soliloquy and then rolled his eyes at the apparent irony of the statement.

"He gets it honest, I guess."

Ben shook his head, "Leave me alone, John. I'm tired – let me get back to my real sleep. You don't make any sense and when you bring up Dean, I keep telling you I have no idea who he is."

John glared then, honest to God, drilled a look at Ben that had him instantly wishing he hadn't said anything at all. Ben had the sudden feeling that he should watch what he said around this dream, this man, because John didn't appear to be a patient dream. At. All.

"You _do_ have a father, Ben. It's Dean. We need to get you to him and we need to move soon."

It occurred to Ben that maybe he wasn't very patient, either, because suddenly he stood up and took a step in John's direction.

"I do NOT have a father and it is NOT Dean Winchester. Mom told me. She told me she had loved Dean but no matter how bad, he or me or Mom wanted it, it wasn't true!"

John looked mildly down at Ben.

"Really? Because sometimes parents want to protect their kids so badly that they will do anything for them. Including lie."

"My mom was not a liar. "

John huffed again, "Yeah, well stick to that thought, son. Everyone lies. What saves them is the reason behind the lie."

It wasn't a light bulb going off, not really. It was more a rewind of his last few words.

_Dean Winchester. _

It was then that Ben realized what he had said. His mom had told him that Dean wasn't his dad. Dean had loved him like a dad though, Ben was sure of that. Everything came rushing back so fast that the room swirled and he staggered fell toward John. For a dream, the man felt pretty solid and he was enveloped in the crushing warmth of a man that he had never known but felt closer to than anyone he could think of at that moment.

Except Dean.

John held him tightly and once again there were familiar smells of motor oil and whiskey and a sharp biting scent that for some reason Ben associated with guns. Dean had guns. Oh, there were very specific rules about not going near them and Ben had felt pretty damn sure that Dean's threats were real. The one time he caught him messing with the Impala, Ben had known that Dean meant business.

John just held him for a while and Ben realized his face was wet with warm, salty tears. Ben could barely breath; halting, stilted breaths and his chest ached with pain. It was embarrassing. Sort of. But John was his dream and maybe you really couldn't get embarrassed by your own dream.

"Shhhhh." John whispered low into Ben's hair, a rumble shush that comforted him. He could feel John's breath on his head and feel John's heart thumping solidly against Ben's body. John was real. He _had to be_ real. No dream or hallucination could be like this.

"I remember, John."

"Of course you do."

"I loved him." Ben stated matter of fact. If he didn't know any better he would swear that the warm presence holding him hitched just a bit, or that the solid thumping in John's heart almost skipped a beat.

"I know that, too."

"I think he loved me." Ben felt John push him a way just a bit and those dark brown eyes met his.

"Like nobody's business, son. Dean loved you so much he let you go. But like I said he was wrong and things have changed. You're in danger and we need to get you to Dean."

Ben wiped his hand across his eyes, sniffled once and stood a little straighter.

"Okay, but how?"

John took a deep breath. "I can interact with you easily, we're connected, you and I, but others it's harder. Did Dean ever teach you how to pick a lock? Hot wire a car?"

Ben's look became genuinely puzzled. "Pick a lock? Hot-wire a car? Of course, not. We lived a normal life. Kids get in trouble for stealing cars and breaking into houses."

John laughed a little wryly. "Kids might, but Winchester kids don't. Look, let me scout it out a little, I'll get the door unlocked easily enough but I may have to teach you how to hot wire a car."

"Drive? Did he teach you to drive?" John thought suddenly.

Ben smiled then, "That he did. He said you could never start too early to learn to drive a car, and if my legs were long enough to reach the pedals that was good enough for him."

"What did your mom think of that?"

"We never told mom." Ben spoke a little shyly but with just a hint of pride.

John laughed then, deep and low.

"Smart boys."

XXX

Despite John's apparent inability to "interact" with things other than Ben, he reappeared in Ben's room fairly quickly.

"The door's unlocked, the hall is clear. There are no guards or anything but you will have to move fast and low past the nurses' station. The lights are dim, I guess even the nurses are trying to encourage everyone to sleep. Hug the walls, you know where everything is. Use the cover around you and open the door slow and keep the opening as narrow as you can. Crawl your way through if you have too. Then down the hall for about 50 yards and the steps are on your left. That door is open, no lock and haul your ass down the steps. I'll meet you there. "

For a moment Ben was scared. "Can't you stay with me?"

"Sorry bud, I've got other things to be doing. I'll meet you at the bottom floor and we'll get out of the hospital from there."

Ben nodded.

"Repeat it back to me."

Ben rolled his eyes; sometimes John was an annoying hallucination. But he relayed the info back verbatim. Then sighed, "I got this, John."

"You are your father's son." John grinned in the darkness of the room.

XXX

Ben met John at the bottom of the steps and from there John guided him through the bowels of the hospital, left, right until Ben had no idea where he was or where he was going. He also wondered why he trusted a hallucination. John had to be a hallucination because Ben was wide-awake. But then, he remembered the warmth of John's embrace.

It made no sense. None of it made sense. He must really be crazy. Maybe Carl was right? They raced through the hospital and out through a service door that led to a darkened parking lot. John lead and Ben followed.

It was nuts really.

But no matter how he turned it around in his head or considered it, despite the apparent crazy, it felt right. _John_ felt right. So he went with his instinct and that _was _something Dean had talked about.

Thinking about Dean was hard. He didn't understand the wheres and whys of his sudden remembering nor did he understand his apparent previous inability to remember a man he obviously loved. But if Dean had taught him anything, supernatural shit was weird and if it was weird then it was no weirder than a hallucination leading him through a parking lot and into the woods.

Suddenly and horribly it occurred to Ben that what if John was a _thing_? He didn't know. He could be.

Ben stopped abruptly just as they headed into the tree line.

"What are you doing, boy?" John sounded tense and irritable. The lack of patience that he had shown earlier reared its ugly head.

"How do I know you're not going to kill me? Why should I trust you?"

John scowled then, "God damn it, if you aren't Dean then you are Sam. Just fucking do what I tell you to do!"

Ben dug his feet in, both figuratively and not. He was not going anywhere with John. He hated the hospital and despised Carl, but Carl was real and not a monster. John? Truthfully, Ben could not be sure.

"Fuck you." Ben sounded pretty brave when he said it. He didn't say fuck a lot. His mom would've grounded him for sure or maybe washed his mouth out with soap. His mom was pretty cool about most things but she hated Ben to cuss, something about being a smart boy and she was sure he could express his displeasure in more articulate ways.

Ben usually tried. For his mom. But this wasn't his mom, this was John. His own damn hallucination dream. He could cuss if he wanted to.

"Pardon?"

For a moment Ben stilled. John was really, really pissed. He could feel it. In the low, deadly rumble of his voice. Not soothing like before, not warm and welcoming. No -this was a pissed John and a pissed John appeared to be something Ben did not want to be around.

"I'm outta here." Ben turned and stepped away from John – not toward the hospital but not where John was leading either. He could do this on his own. He didn't need his own personal hallucination to guide him. He was Ben Braeden and he was a smart kid. He could find Dean and without the help of the potentially supernaturally evil John.

"Ben."

John's word was soft and clear in the night air. Again, Ben stopped, a little irritated at the fact that a hallucination could stop him in his tracks.

"I don't have time to go over it now, you have to trust me."

Ben spun on John, eyes blazing in the darkness. "Trust you? Trust you? You are a dream, a hallucination. I'm crazy but not insane. Why in the hell should I trust you?"

John took a deep breath, debating his next words carefully.

"Because, I'm your grandfather."

Ben's heart skipped a beat. His grandfather?

"I'm Dean's dad."

"Dean's dad died a long time ago."

"Yeah, well, dead ain't always dead and I needed to be back so here I am."

Ben stuck his chin out, defiant and angry. "So I'm supposed to believe you? My hallucination is really Dean's dad sent back from the grave to help me find him. Supernatural is one thing - off the fucking chain is another."

"Where'd you learn to cuss like that? Did Dean teach you that?"

The question caught Ben off balance, "I dunno, maybe."

"Well, he shoulda been more careful. You're just a kid."

"Well, from what I know, Dean was just a kid, too, and he was taking care of Sam _and_ taking care of you sometimes."

John ran a hand across his chin and muttered, "How much did he tell you about me?"

"Not much really. I mean he said you were a great hunter and a good man but…" Ben paused, "But not always the best Dad."

John shuffled his feet awkwardly in the dirt, "Yeah, well, he was probably right. But I loved him and Sam and always did what I felt was best. Which is why you are going with me even if I have to pick you up and carry you."

"He never told me you were an ass."

"Yeah, well, I am. If you ask him now, he'd probably say the same. Hell, if you'd asked him ten years ago, he probably would have too. Doesn't matter though, you walk or ride over my shoulder. Take your pick."

Ben studied John, his hallucination and apparent grandfather. There was no doubt that John meant what he said. Then just to prove a point or maybe John was again losing patience, he picked Ben up easily and threw him over his shoulder like he weighed no more than a bird. Ben's head was down near John's waist and his ass in the air and his legs dangling down John's chest.

A very undignified position.

"Walk." Ben muttered.

John maneuvered him quickly to the ground in a motion that was as effortless as the pickup had been.

"Good choice."

They headed into the woods.


	3. On The Run From Some Institution

**Chapter 2- **_**On The Run From Some Institution**_

Ben followed John through the woods. John moved silently and effortlessly; Ben on the other hand sounded like a wounded wild pig. Ben berated himself for his lack of woodsman ability but then quieted his internal monologue with the fact that John was in fact a _ghost_ and as such, could probably move quietly as a damn ghost. But Ben wasn't sure if John was a ghost either.

Could ghosts unlock doors and carry people around? Ben wasn't sure – Dean didn't explain a whole lot to him but whatever John was, hallucination, ghost or simply dead man walking, he appeared to be pretty solid and real – at least to Ben. Which started Ben thinking, could other people see John? He pondered it for a moment and then figured why not go to the horse's mouth?

"Can other people see you, John?"

John continued his forward momentum. "I'm not quite sure. If we are connected some way, well, I'm pretty sure they can see me. You see and hear and interact with me just fine. The staff at the hospital? They didn't seem to notice me at all. I'm pretty sure I can interact with Sam and Dean, too. Maybe it's a genetic connection?"

"For someone who is supposed to be helping me out, you don't know many answers."

John paused a moment. "You've got a smart mouth."

"I've been told that before."

John grunted a noise that Ben couldn't decipher. Clearly, despite his time with Dean, he was not well versed in Winchester.

"So, what next?" Ben asked.

"Find a car, hot wire it, and get to Sam and Dean."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is easy – I can help you. You need to find Dean. It's not safe for you on your own and if Dean had thought this shit through, he would have realized it could have come to this. He was thinking with his heart. He wanted to keep you safe. It backfired."

"I don't understand, John."

"Look Ben, I'll try to fill you in, but right now, I need to get you in a car heading to Dean not debating the issue."

Ben stopped then. "Look, _John._ I'm trying my best here. I'm following a ghostly grandfather through the woods after breaking out of a crazy hospital, heading toward what looks like a life of crime. Throw me a bone, will ya?"

John stopped and turned toward Ben. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Look kid, you are not crazy. If you can remember Dean now, you can remember that he was a hunter. _Is_ a hunter. You know what he hunts. And the things he hunts? They got your mom and they are trying to get you. The demon that was in your house? One of the lowest on the totem pole, but somehow it found you. I hate to throw it out there so bluntly but we don't have time for a debrief before we've even gotten started.

"You need to come with me. You need to listen to what I tell you and you need to follow my orders. You need to work with me, son, because I don't know how I can protect you and I don't know how long I'm even going to be here. But trust me. I'm John Winchester, father to Sam and Dean Winchester and grandfather to Ben Braeden. Despite the last name, you are a Winchester and my blood runs through your veins. That's why I can connect with you. But none of it will matter if I can't get you to Dean. Do you understand?"

Ben nodded dumbly.

"Answer me, kid." John's voice was low.

"Yes, I understand."

"Good. Let's hustle; we have places to be before daylight."

XXX

It turned out that Ben had a flair for hot-wiring a car. _Is grand theft auto genetic?_ He wanted to pick out a sporty Mustang. Ben figured if he was going to steal a car it might as well be a fun car. John ignored him and pushed him toward a 1998 Ford truck with so much rust on it that Ben was quite sure he'd be peddling like the Flintstones before they got half way to their destination.

Ben amended it in his head.

_Unknown_ destination.

Because wherever John was taking them, he didn't feel the need to share with the class. In Ben's somewhat limited experience, John neither explained himself very well nor took the time to bother. Oh, he explained _exactly_ how to hot wire the truck and nodded approvingly at how quickly Ben did it. He also appeared to be somewhat okay with Ben's driving ability. Although he did close his eyes a time or two and the only real direction he gave was stay under the speed limit.

It was as if he was comfortable with the thought of a thirteen-year old boy without a license driving them on the interstate. Ben was suddenly grateful for the few inches he'd grown in the past year. Despite Dean's ascertains to the contrary, just reaching the pedals did not a great driver make. Being able to look the part helped a bit too. Sometimes John told Ben to pull off and go a back road. Ben didn't know why and John didn't elaborate. Ben had given up trying to get information from him.

Finally though, maybe three hours into the drive Ben balked at John's next direction.

"I wanna stop John, gotta take a whiz."

John turned to Ben and quirked his head as if pissing was something he hadn't thought of.

"Pull over on the side, kid. Do it quick."

Ben sulked a bit but pulled over, stepped into knee high grass and pissed like a racehorse. He shook off, tucked back in and turned toward the truck to see John leaning against it, hip near the tailgate. He headed toward him then, a little slowly, trying to enjoy the movement outside of the truck.

"So, I guess you might be hungry too." John sounded a little irritated; as if bodily functions were something he hadn't anticipated.

"Nah, I'm good for a bit."

John looked him over hard in the early morning light.

"You look a little rough kid. I think you need to eat."

"Yeah, well I've been in the nut house for a month or so and they don't offer sunlamps. The food sucked and I barely slept thanks to my dream grandfather who kept me awake most of the night."

John smiled. "Point taken. Still, I say let's put a few more miles behind us, get breakfast somewhere, change cars and then hit the road till we can find a place to sleep tonight."

Ben sighed. "I'm kinda broke."

John looked off over the side of the road. "Yeah, that's a problem. How good are you at running a con?"

XXX

Ben's introduction to petty thievery was pretty rudimentary. Order breakfast at a busy dinner then leave and don't pay.

It was risky but there was nothing to be done. Ben was hungry and they had no money.

Again, it was as if John hadn't thought about it. Ben bitched to him after the sprint to the truck.

"You know for someone who doesn't want to share the game plan, the game plan we appear to be playing has a lot of holes in it."

John grunted from the passenger seat. "Yeah, well, I've been off the grid for a few years. I don't eat, I don't sleep and yeah, I should've remembered that all teenage boys do is eat and sleep unless you make them do something else."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…,"John seemed to censor himself, "…it means, I'm sorry. I need to work a little harder to remind myself of who you are and what I am. I need to figure some shit out – like money. Things were different when I was alive. I had funds to use, or ways to scam. The boys were brought up in the life and they could work a con as easy as me." John continued. "And I wasn't dead. Dead means no credit, no driver's license no nothing, except that you can see me and no one else can. Apparently. So I have to figure this out."

Ben glanced at John as he carefully merged the truck onto the interstate.

"Oh, so maybe the great John Winchester didn't think things through carefully?"

"Keep your eyes on the road."

"Did I hit a sore spot?"

"Jesus kid, how did you make it to thirteen without somebody knocking some sense in your head?"

Ben grinned, "I'm adorable. Besides – in this case, I'm right. "

John grimaced from the passenger seat, "Well, shit started happening faster than I anticipated. I'll give you that. I wasn't expecting this now. I thought I had more time. Pushing a timeline ahead like this…it's never a good idea. There is a reason why you need to prepare, make contingencies, rework battle plans. Being unprepared is stupid and I have to say right now, we are unprepared."

"You make it sound like a battle…like a war."

John turned steely eyed at Ben.

"Make no mistake: that's exactly what it is."

XXX

They slept in the truck somewhere in Kentucky. Well, Ben slept, John did whatever he did while Ben was sleeping. They changed vehicles in some town in Illinois. This time a late model car with almost as much rust as the truck. Still, Ben had to hand it to John, the truck had proved drive worthy and he didn't doubt that the car would be as well.

"So, John, have you decided to tell me where I'm driving to? Right now, all I got is north. I mean the general direction is nice but a destination would be awesome." Ben asked on their second day of driving.

"Whitefish, Montana."

"And Whitefish, Montana? That's apparently where Dean is."

"Yes."

"And you know this how?"

John furrowed his brow, an indication that he was getting irritated. Ben was learning John's tells. There was an overall feeling in Ben that said John Winchester pissed was not a good thing. Well, let him get ticked off. Ben was entitled to know_ something_.

"Just like I found you."

Ben turned to John and then threw his eyes back on the road, avoiding the reprimand he was sure was coming.

"And that was how?"

John coughed once and if Ben didn't know any better, he'd swear his grandfather was embarrassed.

"I don't know."

"John, this has got to stop, man. I mean. I'm driving cross-country with my dead grandfather looking for my father that I didn't even remember until two days ago. This is nuts and I'm starting to feel like, really, maybe I should have stayed at the hospital."

"God damn it, kid!" John roared from his side of the car.

Ben swerved in automatic response to the bellow.

"You are _not crazy_! A demon killed your mom. You saw it! I was there to help you get away from it. Dean is your damn father and yeah, I'm your dead grandfather so stop with the shit and just fucking man up!"

Ben drove for another minute and then pulled over to the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" John asked. "Gotta take a leak?"

"I'm leaving."

Ben opened the door, slammed it and started walking across an Iowa cornfield.

"You can't leave." John followed, slamming his own door.

"I can and I am."

"You are thirteen, for Christ sake. There are demons after you and I need to get you to Dean."

Ben kept walking, the young stalks of corn bending under his feet. "I'm sick of you, John. I'll find Dean on my own. Whitefish, Montana. I'll meet you there. Or maybe not. Who knows? But I'm not going to be your personal driver and whipping boy. You just leave me alone and I'll figure it out myself."

"Look, kid."

Ben turned then and glared at John. "My name is not 'kid' it's _Ben_. Ben Braeden, not Ben Winchester. Leave me the fuck alone."

John continued to follow Ben and then suddenly Ben felt John's strong hand on his shoulder and then he was spun around.

John looked down hard at Ben but Ben looked back just as hard. John hissed softly, "You are right. I'm an ass. I'm finding this all…" John appeared to search for a word, "_difficult. _ But I suppose it is much worse for you. You are doing great. You are a natural at this and I'm proud of how you are handling it all. I am not an easy person to deal with."

John pinched the center of his nose, as if a headache was coming on. "I don't deal well with mouthy kids. That's why your uncle and I fought so damn much. Although truthfully, your dad was just as mouthy, just not with me…I just," John paused, "I'm sorry, Ben. And I know you probably don't believe it but I've said that twice since we met and really, for me? That's some kind of personal record. Really. You ask your dad when we find him, okay?"

Ben eyed up John. Flannel shirt, black tee, faded jeans and the two days worth of beard that never seemed to need shaving.

"Okay." They both turned back toward the car.

It turned out that pissed off Ben might just almost be a match for pissed off John.

XXX

Ben had managed to pull off stealing some stuff at a Mom 'n Pop store still he was by no means doing well in terms of food.

But he wasn't starving and the food at the hospital had been shit so he figured staying hungry a day or two wouldn't hurt him. Water was easy enough to get, someone's hose and a plastic jug. He was doing okay.

John did seemed to make some concessions regarding the fact that Ben was indeed alive and as such, had some requirements that John did not. He made attempts to offer breaks now and then, pointed out potential stores for a snatch and grab. He was less reluctant to allow Ben to stop for a piss or anything else. He also seemed to understand that the amount of driving that Ben could do was limited. Ben was a natural behind the wheel but driving required concentration and Ben was so very new to the concept that he couldn't put in the continuous hours of driving that his father was apparently able to do at thirteen.

But stopping required stealth as well. In terms of the rest of the world, Ben was an unaccompanied minor.

A lot of people didn't care but there were some folks who noticed. Although Ben was only thirteen, he looked older so to the rest of the world he wasn't at an age where it wasn't conceivable for him to be driving on his own. Traveling cross-country by himself though was a different situation.

Then there always was the fact that while John may have convinced Ben that he wasn't crazy, talking to an imaginary person raised some red flags. Ben figured that it was kind of like that old show _Quantum Leap _where the guy talked to a hologram. John was his personal hologram and talking to people who were not there tended to generate interest.

Staying under the radar seemed real important to John.

So they stayed away from rest areas and didn't even stop at gas stations. John taught Ben the fine art of siphoning gas in about three minutes. Ben became a little more relaxed with his strange traveling companion but still knew almost nothing about him. It was true that Dean had not said much about his father and Ben while interested, hadn't wanted to pry.

There third night together they pulled off on the side of the road, down a rough path that lead to nowhere. It was there that John dictated they were going to spend the night. Ben climbed into the back seat and stretched out and John sat in the front side passenger seat twisting what appeared to be a gold wedding ring.

Ben shivered just a bit in the cool night air and that seemed to catch John's attention.

"Cold?"

"Not really."

"You're a lousy liar, kid." John took off his flannel shirt and handed it over the seat to Ben. Ben accepted it gratefully.

"Thanks."

"For the shirt or my uncanny ability to realize you are a lousy liar?"

Ben snorted and draped the flannel shirt over himself. It held John's warmth and smell and instantly Ben was flooded with memories of Dean.

Working on the truck, Dean's soft instructions, _use the three quarter inch, son_. Son, Ben had hung on that word, wrapped himself around it. He remembered when Dean got stern, _Tell your mom that you broke the damn thing and take it like a man._ It was hard for Ben to believe that a phone conversation he'd had almost a year ago, could be so fresh in his mind. But it was, he remembered everything about Dean. He remembered Dean's laugh and the way his eyes crinkled. He remembered the way Dean looked at Mom. He remembered the way Dean looked at Ben. He remembered when Dean had pushed him that night. He wasn't afraid of Dean, he could never be afraid of Dean. Mom had been mad but Ben? He just wanted Dean back.

"You smell like Dean. " Ben spoke without thinking.

"Nah, Dean smells like me."

Ben thought about it.

"You are probably right." He conceded, then he added as an afterthought, "So why do you think Dean thought you weren't always the best dad?"

John appeared to mull that around in his head for a bit, "I suppose I could have handled some things differently."

"Such as?"

John looked at Ben again in the rear view, as if considering how much he wanted to tell. _If _he wanted to tell. Maybe it was their unusual situation or maybe it was something else, but for some reason John decided to answer him. Ben thought it impressive, considering his grandfather's obvious disregard for informing Ben of anything.

"Well, when Sam went to Stanford, it was not one of my finest father son moments. "

"You were upset 'cause he went to college?" Ben asked, truly shocked at John's words.

"Not really, not the college bit, but the being away from Dean and me. I blew up and basically threw the kid out, which was dumb…but I wasn't wrong."

Ben could barely see John's shape in the front seat. "Doesn't make any sense, John. Either you were wrong or right."

John made the noise then, the one that Ben had learned to associate with John, a growl-huff that he still hadn't quite pinned down the meaning of.

"I was right. Sam shouldn'ta gone. It was dangerous, he was alone and unprotected and it turned out that the people he thought were his friends at Stanford were demons, so yeah…he should've stayed with us. But I lost my cool. I don't know who is more stubborn, Sammy or me. Just not one of my best moments as a father." Then as if he needed clarification he added, "Sometimes, I'm a less then patient man."

Ben snorted at the obvious understatement. John ignored it.

"And things like this…" John continued nodding toward the darkened road, "we spent more than a night or two in a car on the side of the road. Granted, it was the Impala and she's a good deal bigger than this little thing but still, not the best place to raise your kids."

John really didn't appear to be talking to Ben any more – it was as if he was talking to himself, running through a lifetime of memories and sifting the good from the bad.

He turned then and looked hard at Ben over the seat, "But not once did I ever stop loving either of those boys. Not once – and no matter what anyone tells you, even them, that is the truth."

The low rumble in John's voice conveyed the emotion he obviously felt as much as the words themselves.

"So…when we get there, you can tell them yourself." Ben offered.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Then as if a switch had flipped John turned away and sat facing the front of the car. "Go to sleep, kid."

Ben thought about arguing, he wasn't tired, he wasn't going to be ordered around. But neither made any sense. He was tired and being ordered around by John was apparently par for the course.

He was asleep within ten minutes.

XXX

Ben slept better than he anticipated and woke with the feeling of the warm morning sunlight coming through the back window. He burrowed a little deeper under John's flannel before he decided to wake completely. He peeked out and grumbled a low, "Morning," in John's general direction.

To his dismay there was no dark form in the front of the car and for a moment he panicked. He was alone on the side of the road and his grandfather had left him here.

He took a deep breath and stilled. Ben wasn't afraid. Not of changeling kids when he was eight or sitting by himself in a car in the early morning now. If John had left to go do whatever ghost grandfather's do, well, that was okay. Ben would be fine.

Ben pulled the flannel shirt around him and opened the door to head out into the woods that surrounded the car. John was nowhere around so he opted to piss on the right front tire. It seemed appropriate. Piss on the car, piss on John. It was a little cold; he blew on his hands and looked around one more time.

Well, there was no time like the present.

Ben made his way to the driver seat and repeated the hot wiring ritual. The car sputtered once and then caught with a roar. He was just about to put the car in gear when the passenger door opened up and John jumped inside.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Whitefish, Montana."

"Without me?"

"With or without you. I'm going to find Dean and if you aren't ready to go, well then I'll leave your ass."

"You will, huh?" John turned and leveled a dark glare at Ben that Ben promptly dismissed.

"Look, John – I'm not going to wait around while you do whatever you do and don't bother telling me about it. "

John sighed, "You were asleep for Christ sake. Was I supposed to wake you up?"

"Sure why not…you've done it before."

Ben would swear John was counting in his head. "Just drive."

"Sir, yes, sir." Ben shot off what he hoped was a decent salute but it seemed to do little to impress John.

"Don't be a dick, Ben." John growled.

"_Me_ be a dick?" Ben turned and glared at John. "You are the one who doesn't bother telling me what is going on. You are the one who left this morning without so much as a note telling me where you were going…and don't pretend you can't write a note, because if you can unlock a lock you can use a pencil. I've about had it with you and your stealthy need-to-know bullshit. You, John Winchester, are the biggest dick around."

Ben slammed the car in gear and drove down the dirt lane heading toward the main road.

John sat for a moment in what appeared to be stunned silence.

"Did you just call me a dick?"

Ben looked over at John, "Apparently, yes."

John sat for another moment quietly contemplating Ben. "Well, I've been called a dick before, but not by one of my sons or in this case, my grandson." He amended that thought, "Well, at least not within earshot anyway."

"Yeah, well, get used to it, John."

John seemed to gather his thoughts together. "Get used to it? You do realize I would have kicked your father's ass for calling me a dick."

Ben shrugged, "Yeah, well, if the shoe fits."

"Okay kiddo, let's get this straight. I'm the adult in the picture, you are the kid. You will treat me like an adult or I swear I'll…."

"You will what?" Ben glared back at John. "Are you going to threaten to turn the car around? You can't…I'm driving. Ground me? Take away my TV? You are my dead grandfather. I don't think any of those things are doable so why don't we just put our cards on the table."

Ben stopped the car and put it in park just to drive the point home.

"Look, John. I appreciate what you are doing for me…I do. It's weird, but I kind of like you. Plus, I think you have my best interests at heart. But I just can't keep driving around with you pointing out general directions. I just can't be expected to go where you tell me to go, do what you tell me to do and blindly follow your orders."

John looked strangely confused.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, you're dead. As a doornail. That should give you an indication of how much pull you have here. Secondly, I'm my own man – I'm all for finding Dean and I will find him but you have got to learn to chill and third? Well, again, I hate to say it, but there is the dick factor. John, don't be a dick."

John furrowed his brow, growled and made that odd Winchester noise.

"Well, the first point I can't argue with. I'm dead. The second point is moot because you are not a man, you are a boy. The dick factor? That's quite possible but I don't need some smart ass kid telling me what I can and cannot do."

"And maybe I don't need a smart ass grandfather telling me what I can and cannot do."

John's voice dropped lower, a low rumble that caused Ben's heart to skip a beat. Suddenly it occurred to Ben that maybe he had stepped over the line. His grandfather/hologram/ghost looked like he was ready to blow a gasket. Could he give a dead man a heart attack? There was a vein in John's head that was throbbing and the man swiped a hand over his face in a move that Ben had seen Dean do a time or two before, usually after Ben had done or said something incredibly stupid. Maybe it was a father thing? Maybe it was a Winchester thing?

Ben really had no idea what John could do to him.

Being killed by your dead grandfather seemed unlikely though. Killing your dead grandfather seemed just as strange.

Ben opted for diffusion of the situation.

"Look, John. I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect, it's just…. We really have to work together here. I need help. I'll admit it. I need to find Dean and you want me to find Dean so we both have the same goal…just help me to understand a little better what I need to do."

"Please." He added carefully.

Maybe it was the 'please' or maybe John just decided that it wasn't worth the effort. In any case he nodded. He did mutter something about pain in the ass Winchester boys and how some things never changed.

Ben found himself smiling at the thought.


	4. The Memory Remains

**Chapter 3 **_**The Memory Remains**_

They pulled into Whitefish Township in late morning.

"So, where are they?" Ben asked as the hit what passed for the city limits. It looked like a western gold mining town except for the pickups parked diagonally out front of the local stores.

John looked toward the mountain peaks. "Not here, up there."

Ben followed his grandfather's gaze. "That looks like a heck of a climb."

"It is; the car won't be able to make all of it. Rufus' cabin is pretty tucked away. We'll drive as far as we can and then hike the rest of the way in."

"Hike?"

"Yeah, there is a trail of sorts. It's not one marked on a regular hiking map, but it's there. I want you to stop at the hardware store on your right. There's a man there, name of Mitchell. Tell him you need a map of the area outside of Glacier National Park. It will be a handwritten map but it will be accurate. Tell him Rufus Tanner sent you. Tell him you need to be outfitted for the climb. Mitchell will know what you need. There might be another way up there, but I don't know what it is. Then see if you can hang in his back room for a bit."

"Hang in his back room? That sounds shady."

"It's not shady, he's got it demon proofed. You can stay there while I check on some other things. I won't be gone long."

"And why would this Mitchell guy let me stay in his back room?"

John rumbled now. "Because you know Rufus Tanner and because Mitchell is a hunter and you are a kid. He will let you stay. Just do it."

Ben huffed, "Once again I get the feeling that you are planning this by the seat of your pants, John."

John sighed. "I do nothing by the seat of my pants, boy. "

"Keep telling yourself that, John." Ben said as he pulled into a space in front of the hardware store.

"You just listen to me, _Ben_, and do what I say. I'll be back soon."

With that John opened the car door, shut it and started walking down the main street. Ben turned toward the hardware store then glanced back to the street, but John was gone.

XXX

John was right, Mitchell did have a map; he also outfitted him for the climb and did show him to the back room. He grumbled about babysitting and told him to keep his grubby hands off of his _Playboy_ collection. Ben suddenly stopped in mid sit on the couch when he noticed the skin mags on the suspiciously stained couch. He was tired, but not _that_ tired.

He opted for a hard chair next to a fold-up table. The room may have been demon proof but it was sorely lacking in any kind of provisions. There was a TV with two channels and half of a lukewarm bottle of beer.

Still, Ben sat on the chair and propped his feet on the table…and within ten minutes he was sleeping.

Ben woke abruptly without any idea what time it was or where he was. It came back in a flash, the demon proof room, the map and Mitchell but there was no John. Ben stretched and turned on the TV but the grainy picture wasn't worth the effort. He was hungry. He needed to piss and he was not going to piss in the lukewarm beer. For all he knew that _was _the lukewarm beer.

Ben cautiously opened the door to the back room. He could tell from the light in the hardware store that a few hours had passed. Mitchell was in the back talking to a customer, something about drywall nails. Ben shook his head. He'd had it. With Mitchell, with that skeevy back room, and with John Winchester.

Carefully, he moved past the rows of camping equipment and screwdrivers and bins filled with bolts and screws of every kind. Then he opened the front door to the store and slipped out into the late afternoon sun.

A minute later he was in the car, wires sparking and gas pedal to the floor as he backed out of the parking space.

He had a map. He had a car. Hell, thanks to Mitchell, he had some camping supplies. He could find Dean.

XXX

It wasn't that hard to drive until there was no more road. Whitefish was not all that big and despite being handwritten, the map was accurate. Ben parked the car, shouldered his backpack, and headed up the mountain. Finding the trail was easy enough too or at least it seemed so. But it turned out there was more than one trail and Ben had obviously failed Boy Scout 101 because after looking at the map and looking at his position on the trail something was not quite right.

He sighed, repositioned the map on a flat rock, smoothing the wrinkles and looking up the trail. It was going off to the left but if Ben was reading the map correctly, it should veer to the right. Maybe he was looking at it backwards. Ben spun it around and tried from that viewpoint.

Nope. Nothing.

Not twenty minutes up the trail and Ben was lost.

"Lost huh?"

Ben spun to see John standing behind him.

"No. Not lost. Just a little…misdirected."

"Why aren't you at Mitchell's?"

"Why do you keep raining on my parade?"

John grunted, "All you had to do was one thing. Stay at Mitchell's. Do you ever listen to anyone?"

Ben shrugged. "I listened to Dean. Most of the time."

"Well, ain't that a trip. You managed to listen to an adult in your life. Most of the time. What did you do the rest of the time. Play in traffic? Climb high voltage towers? Obviously, you have some kind of a death wish. You do realize how much danger you are in period, let alone climbing this mountain by yourself?"

"No, John. I don't know. Because you don't really tell me anything. So yeah, I got tired of waiting for you at Mitchell's back room of fun and decided to find Dean myself. I was doing pretty good until this." Ben waved the map with a frustrated grunt.

John grabbed the map from Ben. "Here. " He pointed to an area on the map. "This is where you are, this is where you need to be."

"Well, you don't have to be so darn grumpy."

John breathed deeply. Slow and regular and then let it out with a long _whoosh_. It was as if it was all he could do to keep his voice modulated.

"I am not _grumpy. _I am, however, sick of your disobedience and inability to follow the simplest of orders. What I oughta do is turn you over my knee." John glared hard at Ben.

"Like that would ever happen." Ben muttered.

"It's what I would've done if Sam or Dean had done something this foolish." John squared his shoulders and Ben was sure he was doing his best impersonation of intimidation personified.

It almost worked.

"Yeah, well, lucky me, I'm not Sam or Dean." Ben cocked his head at John and settled his butt against a boulder and then crossed his arms over his chest.

John turned away and walked back along the path for a moment and faced the opposite direction. Ben could see his shoulders shaking with tension. He was like an elastic band stretched to the breaking point.

John turned back and walked over to Ben. For a moment, Ben thought maybe John was going to follow through on his threat of spanking his ass but instead he ruffled a large calloused hand through Ben's wavy hair and then pulled Ben in for a brief one-armed hug.

"Yeah, Ben. Lucky you are not Sam or Dean, but damn if you don't act like them both."

Ben couldn't help the smile that ghosted over his face. Maybe his grandfather actually liked him.

XXX

John walked ahead of Ben and broke the trail. Ben followed on his heels. Although it had been cool this morning, as the afternoon progressed, so did the heat and soon Ben was sweating. He tied his own flannel shirt around his waist and hitched his pack up over his shoulders. It wasn't that heavy – Mitchell had made sure that he just had the essentials. Some water, energy bars, a Leatherman tool and a length of rope.

Then because they were hunters, there was a canister of salt, some lighter fluid and disposable lighters. There was also the obligatory holy water. Ben wondered briefly if he should make John drink it. He discounted it though. He was in deep enough as it was, whatever John was, Ben felt sure he wasn't evil. There was a knife, too. Not a big one like Dean used to have, but it was sharp and just having it in his pack gave Ben a measure of comfort.

"So, John, what are we going to do when we meet Sam and Dean?"

"What do you mean? I'm going to turn you over to them."

"Turn me over? What am I, a fugitive?"

"No, it's just, that's what I'm here to do. To protect you and take you to Dean."

"Speaking of what you are doing, John. What _are_ you doing? What are you?" Ben figured it was just fine listening to John talk while he was following him. It meant they could talk without Ben having to look at him. Whenever Ben asked questions that John didn't want to answer to his face, he would narrow his eyes and offer a Winchester glare that Ben had never seen from Dean.

John continued up the trail.

"An angel." John said softly.

"What?"

"An _angel_, damn it."

Ben reached for John's back. "You? John Winchester. Tough as nails sonofabitch and hunter extraordinaire, father to demon killers and survivor of Hell. _You_ are an angel?"

John didn't turn with the touch of Ben's hand but instead dug his boots into the dirt a little more.

"Watch your step, Ben." Ben wasn't sure if he was talking about the footing or not.

"Oh, no you don't, John. You can't say something like that and not expect me to call you on it."

"Do what you want, Ben. I don't care. It's not my job to care; it's my job to get you to Sam and Dean. Besides, I don't have to explain myself to a kid. I never did with my own boys and I don't plan on starting with my grandson."

Ben stopped.

That stopped John's forward momentum too. "Oh, shit. Not again." John turned and glared that glare at Ben. "Is this the way it is going to be? Whenever I don't give in to your petty little tantrums you stop and refuse to go any further? Or you walk away like a damn six year old. Well, let me tell you, Ben. I've about had it with the fucking attitude."

"You don't sound like an angel. Angel's wouldn't cuss like that. Besides, you have no wings. And you _are_ grumpy. All the time. Aren't angels full of grace? You, John, are full of crap."

John stepped toward him and once again, Ben had the feeling that the aforementioned spanking might come into play. Why did John annoy him so much?

It was as if they were oil and water.

John didn't reach for Ben though, didn't do anything but stand there with the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees and mottling his back with gold and green.

"Well, maybe so. But I _am_ an angel. Not, and I'm paraphrasing your father here, a douchey angel, I'm a guardian angel. My job is to protect you, Ben. Just _you_."

"And how did you get this particular job? Aren't guardian angels supposed to be with you when you are born or something? You weren't even dead when I was born. Besides, you don't look like the angel type."

"No, I suppose not. But it is what it is." John growled low but clearly, "When I _volunteered_ for this job, I had no idea I would be looking out for a kid who wouldn't listen to a damn thing I said. You don't stay put. You are mouthier than Dean and you are ten times more stubborn than Sammy. It's like you are determined to pluck every last nerve I have and trust me when I say, I didn't have that many to begin with."

"Well then leave, John. Just go." Ben shouldered past John with a bravado he didn't really feel. Suddenly everything just seemed too hard.

His mom. The demon. The hospital. His grandfather. Even Dean. He was just thirteen. He should be playing baseball. He should be hanging with his friends. He should be going to the damn mall and sneaking in to watch R rated movies.

He should not be climbing a mountain with his dead grandfather. He amended it in his head. His dead, guardian-angel grandfather. How many tags could he give the man? Would it be so hard for John to just _tell him what was what?_

Ben was shocked to find hot tears trailing down his cheeks as he climbed up the narrow path.

He didn't need John Winchester. He didn't need anyone.

Obviously John felt differently because he felt John's huge hand on his shoulder.

"Ben."

Ben tried to shrug him off but shrugging off John Winchester was easier said than done. While the hand didn't close any tighter around his shoulder it didn't allow any forward momentum either. So Ben just stopped. He couldn't fight John, that had been proven in the past, so he just gave in.

A quick turn and Ben was facing John.

"C'mere."

John pulled Ben in then and Ben let it happen. For the second time since he'd met the man, Ben found himself in John's arms, breathing in that scent, leather and whiskey, smoke and something that Ben associated only with John. Warm tears ran down his face but he wasn't sobbing, these were silent tears and he just let it happen.

There were no quiet words of reassurance either. John just held him. Ben found John's solid heartbeat as comforting as before. The weight of John's arms were heavy and warm and despite the heat of the day, Ben didn't try to struggle out of the embrace.

Finally, Ben felt his body relax and felt John soften in response. It was only then that John allowed Ben to pull away.

Ben looked at John's tear stained shirt and muttered, "Sorry."

John smiled slow then, "I've had worse." Then maybe in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Dean barfed an entire spaghetti dinner on me when he was six. Neither one of us touched the stuff for a year."

It must have worked because Ben smiled at the thought.

"It goes with the territory, kid."

For some reason the "kid" didn't bother him; it felt right somehow.

"Come on, Ben. We're almost there."

Ben nodded and followed John up the trail.

**xxx**

"So Dean's in there?" Ben asked quietly.

John and Ben stood hidden in a grove of trees.

Ben had to admit Rufus must have been a pretty smart guy. His cabin pretty much blended with the surrounding forest. If John hadn't pointed it out, Ben might have missed it.

There was no Impala out front but since they'd hiked in, Ben figured Sam and Dean must have done the same.

"John?"

John shook his head, a quick movement that was almost imperceptible.

"No, they aren't there?" Ben asked again.

"No, they're in there, alright."

"Well, come on." Ben reached for John's hand automatically and tugged in the direction of the cabin. John didn't move.

"John?"

"Let me think a minute."

"Think? This is where we've been heading for the past five days. What is there to think about?"

John just stood in the tree line.

"Wait. Are you scared?"

John snorted then. "What? Of my own boys? No."

Ben crossed his arms mimicking both Dean and John without even realizing it. "That's funny, 'cause you sure seem scared."

John's voice rumbled low. "This is not the face of a man who is scared. I'm just thinking."

"Don't you think you would have been thinking _before_ getting here? I mean you've had plenty of time to think."

John scuffed his foot in the pine needles that littered where they were standing, but he met Ben's eyes without hesitation.

"Sam and Dean are…" John searched for the right word, "– edgy. They might shoot first and ask questions later. Which I actually approve of, but right now I'd rather not have you peppered with salt rounds. Or worse."

"Okay, so you go up there first. You are already dead, John. It's not like they can kill you again. "

John muttered low. "Well, it wouldn't stop them from trying."

"So they are_ that_ mad at you that they would try to kill you?"

John ran a hand down his face. "Not that exactly, but they aren't going to take any chances and we do have some unfinished business to talk about. I told you I don't regret the things I did but I'm not really proud of them all either. "

"So, John, man up. That's what Dean would tell me. That's what you would tell Dean. Just pull up your big boy pants and take whatever licks you have coming to you."

John grunted that Winchester noise. "Licks coming to me? I'm the ass kicker in the family."

"Whatever helps you to sleep at night." Ben looked up at the cabin.

Ben took a deep breath and considered his next words carefully. "I know you are all about the orders and the discipline and the _yes, sir_ and _no, sir_ stuff. I got it, but I'm tired and I really want to see Dean, so unless you can figure something out really soon, I'm going to call out to the cabin, raise my hands over my head and walk up there. Dean's not going to kill me. Maybe make me drink some holy water and cut me with a silver knife. Once he realizes I'm me, well he might yell a bit. Especially if he thinks I got here by myself. But I'm good with all of that if I get to see Dean."

"You _will_ do what I say, Ben." John left the threat unsaid, but he sounded like he meant it. "Ben. Do you understand?"

Ben did roll his eyes, but John was looking at the cabin when he did it. Then to placate John, and his obvious need for answering questions and Ben's pressing need to get on with it, Ben replied. "Yes, sir."

Apparently it was the correct answer because with that, John cupped his hands and yelled toward the house,

"SAM! DEAN!" Then he pulled Ben up behind him and placed a large tree between both of them and the cabin.

A shot rang out and hit the tree with a solid thud.

"That would be Sam."

Ben took a deep breath as the sound of the shot reverberated through the forest.

"And you know that how?"

"It's his Taurus."

"Jesus, John. You know your kids by their guns?"

John gave him a look that said, _didn't everybody_?

John stayed safely behind the tree.

"Boys, it's me!"

Another bullet a little higher and above Sam's.

"Dean, I take it?" Ben mused.

"Yeah." John muttered.

John yelled toward the cabin. "I have Ben with me. "

From the cabin they heard Dean's voice clear as a bell. "Send him in, hands up. You stay where you are."

"No can do, son. It's both of us together. Me first and Ben behind."

"Sonofabitch." Ben grinned at Dean's choice in words. He could almost see Dean yelling those words. His father was pretty funny sometimes.

The door opened and Sam stepped out on the porch, shotgun up and ready.

"Come out." Sam yelled, sharp, staccato and all business. John stepped from behind the tree, dragging Ben behind him.

"Where's Dean? " Ben whispered.

"Window on the right with a rifle. Dean's better at this distance than Sam. Right now, he's got a clear shot at my heart. I hope he's not thinking a head shot because that would just be unnecessary and why aim for the head when you got all of this chest to aim for?"

Ben shuddered just a bit. "Doesn't it bother you that you are discussing kill shots with your grandson?"

"Nope, not at all. Better to be prepared right?" John spoke low making sure Ben stayed safely behind him as they walked slowly toward Sam. John kept his arms up and moved slowly toward Sam.

"Damn, Sam," John said when he was within talking distance. "You've packed on the muscle."

"Shut up and stay where you are."

John stopped.

"Turn around and start backing up."

"Can't do that son. I can't very well protect Ben if I'm facing the other direction."

"Do it."

John didn't turn around, but didn't make any overt gestures either. He said softly to Ben, "They'll switch."

And they did, Sam melted back into the shadows of the cabin and Dean stepped forward, shotgun in hand and trained on John. It was seamless, the change in positions, as if the boys were one person and one brain. Ben heard the low chuckle from John but he doubted anyone else did.

Ben peered around John's substantial bulk and his eyes caught Dean's across the short expanse of what passed for a front lawn in front of the cabin and that was all she wrote. Ben broke to the right and ran straight towards Dean.

"God damn it!" John yelled but it was already too late, Ben was up the steps and throwing himself into Dean's arms. Arms that had somehow dropped the shotgun and were willing and open to hold Ben.

Sam was out on the porch in a second.

"You stay. " He gestured meaningfully to John with his shotgun and John stopped dead in his tracks. "No Ben behind you, now so turn around and back up."

John shot Sam a scathing look but did as he was told.

"Hands behind your head and hit your knees."

John complied. Hands laced behind his head and he dropped to his knees. A moment later Sam was behind him, quickly pulling his arms down into cuffs and then jerking him roughly to his feet.

"Overkill, much?" John asked mildly.

Sam snorted, but half pulled and half drug John towards the porch where Ben was tangled in Dean's embrace, shaking and crying. Dean carded his hands through Ben's hair and pulled him in tighter. "Shhhh. Ben, I gotcha."

Ben knew he wasn't making a lot of sense. He was mumbling about mom and demons. There were some words about Carl and John and hotwiring a car. It was nonsense and Ben knew that, but he kept it up for a while and Dean let him.

"What did you do to him?" Dean glowered over Ben's head and stared straight at John who stood quietly a few feet in front of the steps to the cabin, handcuffed.

"What did_ I_ do to him? I brought him to you, Dean."

"Why, what's in it for you?"

John shook his head. "Nothing. "

"Who are you?" That was Sam. John answered him but didn't move his eyes from Dean.

"I'm your father."

Dean snorted; Ben could feel him tense under and around him.

"Too dumb to fall for that one. Don't know who or what you are or what your motives are. But believe me, we aren't taking any chances."

"Obviously. " John rattled the cuffs behind him. "You know these won't really work if I'm a demon."

"No but that will." Sam gestured to the Devil's trap cleverly concealed in the earth beneath him.

"True." But John stepped out of it easily and moved another step toward the boys.

"Then this." Sam dropped a lighter to the holy oil and the flames shot up around John like an inferno.

John stepped through that as well. By now he was standing at the foot of the steps to the cabin.

"Okay, not an angel, not a demon either. Doesn't mean you aren't something. Doesn't mean you are our Dad." That was Sam again too.

John sighed, "No it doesn't mean anything really. Holy water? Silver? Iron? Salt. Hell you could try an exorcism if you want. Pray maybe? Do it. It doesn't matter what you do. I'm John Winchester; I'm your father. I'm maybe a little modified or something. But I'm him."

"Modified? " Dean asked.

"Dean…" Ben spoke up; when he felt he could talk again. "John's my Guardian Angel."

"Guardian Angel?" Both Sam and Dean spoke at exactly the same time and Ben noticed John's slow grin at their exact inflection.

"So the holy oil?" Dean asked.

"Doesn't work on me. I'm not subject to the same laws as other angels. Nothing can stand between me and my mission and my mission is Ben." John jostled the cuffs behind him and suddenly they were gone.

"Clever parlor trick, _John_." Dean growled.

"Not a parlor trick, your brother knows how to put on cuffs, Dean. You know it, too, because I taught you both how to do it. And I would prefer it if you don't call me John. I've been listening to my grandson call me John and it is irritating as hell. I might be a guardian angel but I'm still your father. "

"That remains to be seen."

John smiled then, "Okay then, let's get this party started."


	5. So Low In The Sky

**Chapter 4 **_**So Low In The Sky **_

Ben didn't quite get the vibes that were dancing around the cabin.

John submitted easily to whatever test Sam and Dean could devise to prove he wasn't a thing that needed to be killed. He did it matter of factly, as if he expected nothing less. But Ben couldn't help but think that once John had satisfactorily passed the battery of tests the tension in the small cabin might relax a bit.

Instead, all three Winchesters faced each other, John in a hard-backed chair that had seen better days, Sam in a battered stuffed chair covered with what appeared to be an Indian blanket, and Dean standing, his hip resting on what passed for a kitchen table. Despite the fact that they were not actively attacking each other, none of them seemed relaxed. From his vantage point on the sofa, Ben could see all three Winchesters but it was Dean he concentrated on.

It felt kind of stupid to be staring at Dean, but it had been so long. Dean was the same, sort of. He looked the same, moved the same but somehow something was different. He wasn't sure if the Dean he had lived with had been a lie or if this Dean was. It worried a kid. Ben silently berated himself; Dean was here, he was with Dean – as long as those two things remained true, Ben would be okay.

Ben tried to make himself as small as possible, curled on the sofa barely paying attention to the TV that apparently only played Hispanic soap operas. Ben's Spanish was piss poor to say the least and the three-way tennis match playing out around him was much more interesting.

"Okay, so silver can't hurt you and you can drink holy water. Still doesn't mean you're our father. I don't like the idea of you hanging around with Ben until I know for sure. Hell, I'm not sure I want you hanging around _me_." Dean shot a glance at John that spoke volumes and crossed his arms, his body all but vibrating with tension.

"You don't believe I'm your father. I got that. Make me prove it to you. What would only I know? I've past all your other tests – pick something. Anything."

Sam spoke up, "Bobby's dog. What was the name of Bobby's dog?"

"Which one? He always had a mutt or two running around."

"The last one."

John thought for a minute, "Big black thing, half Rottie, half bear maybe. Rumsfeld – the damn dog's name was Rumsfeld. That dog hated me, wanted to use me as a chew toy whenever I showed up. Do you boys remember when that sonofabitch chased me over Bobby's back fence? Christ, that fence had to be twelve foot high."

"Is it wrong to say I was laughing my ass off?" That was Sam.

"Yeah, really funny. Glad Bobby didn't have the electric on." John mused.

Even Dean smiled a bit at the apparent visual of his father clambering over a fence. All Ben could think of was that movie about the boys who kept losing their ball in the grouchy neighbor's yard_. _Although Ben was pretty sure that dog was brown.

"I lost a good pair of boots to that fucking mutt."

There was silence then.

Then a moment when everything just settled if was if both Sam and Dean were beginning to reconcile themselves to the fact that John might actually be who he said he was.

Dean dropped his head then and for a moment, Ben wasn't quite sure what he saw. Indecision? Anger? His father swallowed hard and wiped a hand across his eyes. Crying? Was Dean crying? Ben didn't think so because Dean never cried. The whole time he'd known Dean he hadn't once seen him lose it completely. Apparently, he wasn't going to see it now because Dean took a deep breath and seemed to center himself.

"So," Dean spoke conversationally and with just the smallest of tremors in his voice, "How'd you get this gig, huh? Hanging out in Heaven not what it is cracked up to be?"

John handled the change in tack easily, "The job was available."

"There's a shocker. Always about the job, huh?" Dean offered.

"Yeah, it always has been," John replied without so much as a deep breath.

"Even when _the job_ puts your family in harm's way."

It wasn't a question.

"The jobis _about_ family." John stated simply. "And in this case, I was _saving_ my family. "

Dean spoke quietly but clear with an edge of irritation Ben recognized. "That's what you _say_."

"That is what I _know_. Ben's my charge and my grandson. That's enough for me and it should be enough for you."

Dean stood silently for a moment; the ancient table creaked under his weight. He seemed to replay what John had just said. "Your…grandson?" His voice crackled with tension around the word. "You're telling me…Ben's my kid?"

For the first time since they arrived at the cabin, Dean seemed genuinely shocked. Which was odd really. Father back from the dead? Not so surprising. Ben being his kid? A stunning revelation. Ben frowned, pushing up slightly from the couch so that he could better see all three men.

John nodded. Sam, Ben saw, was absolutely still. As if afraid any movement or sound would shatter what was suddenly a fragile moment.

"But Lisa…" Dean began.

"Lisa lied." John interrupted abruptly.

"And I should take your word over a woman that I loved?"

Ben's heart jumped at that. Dean _had_ loved his mother.

"I'm your father. You should believe me."

Dean grunted, "And yeah, why is that? Because you never lied to me? If you're really John Winchester, you'll know that's the biggest lie of all."

"You should take my word because the only way this works…" John waved his hand vaguely in Ben's direction, "this Guardian Angel thing - is if I'm blood. And I'm blood. I'm his grandfather. I'm your father. You should _believe _me."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I've about fucking had it with believing in you and a hell of a lot of other things."

"I don't like your new attitude, Dean."

"Feels real good to me."

John exhaled slowly, then spoke quietly but firmly his voice low in the confines of the cabin, "Well, you're right Dean about the lying. I lied all the time. I lied to save you. I lied to protect you. Everything I ever did was for you boys. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. "

"Save us? Protect us? Well, _Dad,_ you did a bang up job on that one."

"You know what, Dean? I've had just about enough of your mouth." John's voice had lowered to rough rumble. John sure sounded scary and not for the first time, Ben was glad not to be the recipient of that particular sound.

Ben watched as a slow grin trailed across his father's face. Ben wasn't quite sure if it was pleasant or not but the words sounded truthful, "That's a little more like the Dad we all know and love."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" John grumbled.

"You know exactly what it means." Dean countered.

"Dean." That was Sam. "Let it go." Sam's voice was soft and low.

"Let it go? _Let it go_? What do you think, Dad? Should I let it go?"

"I think your brother has a point." John said carefully.

The tension in the room was so thick, Ben could practically see it. Darting his eyes from his father, to his uncle, to his grandfather, he was sure things were about to come to blows. He figured he'd change the subject.

"So, Dean, " Ben interrupted, uncurling himself from the old couch. "I should fill you in on my mad driving skills. All the way from the nut house to here. You would have been impressed!"

The diversionary tactic appeared to be lost on Dean at first, but then he turned to John eyes blazing.

"_Ben_ drove all the way here?"

_Well, crap,_ thought Ben.

"Would you have preferred me leave him there? Or hey, better yet, I drive and no one could see me. Yeah, that wouldn't have brought any unwanted attention."

Dean pushed off from the table angrily. "So you call me or put the kid on a bus or whatever. A thirteen-year-old boy doesn't need to drive 2,000 miles across country."

"Didn't have your number, and I couldn't very well protect him on a fucking bus. You know what, Dean, if you've got something to say to me? Say it." John stood abruptly and moved toward Dean.

Ben watched as his uncle unfolded himself from the chair and nonchalantly put himself in between his father and his grandfather. Ben wondered if it had always been like this. Sam mediating between these two.

Both Dean and John turned toward Sam. "Sit down, Sam," they growled in unison.

It almost made Ben giggle.

Sam stood in between them both and arched his brows. "Not a chance in Hell."

"So what, Sam? Is my kid brother going to protect me from my kid's guardian angel?" Dean asked.

"Nah, but maybe protect you from Dad."

John snorted at that. "Your brother has never needed you to fight his battles. He doesn't need you to fight this one."

Sam spoke again. "So is that what it is? A battle?"

John grunted. "No, Sam it's not a battle – it's a discussion."

Dean's laugh was a sharp smack of humorless sound. "A discussion? Did you say it was a _discussion_? 'Cause I don't _ever_ remember having any discussions with you. They were all one sided – with you giving the orders and me following them."

"And what's wrong with that?" John growled.

Ben discreetly lowered his voice. "Dean, he's got a thing about following orders. It borderlines on crazy, really."

Both John and Dean looked at Ben as if suddenly realizing he was still in the cabin with them.

"Ben, you stay outta this." That was Dean.

Ben shrugged and picked up a magazine from the table. It looked like a tabloid from 2009. Whatever.

"What about you Sammy?" John asked, "You seem a little less hostile than I remember."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno, Dad. I've just had some time to think on things since you died. I'm not so sure you were wrong about everything. "

John glared at Dean, "It's nice to see one of my sons is in agreement with me."

Sam smiled a little, "Now, I didn't say that."

XXX

Ben's reunion with Dean wasn't quite what he thought it would be. It felt good to be with him, but it hadn't felt good to explain the last month. There wasn't much room for privacy in the little cabin but Ben figured it wasn't necessary really. This was his father, his uncle and his grandfather. They were family. Still, when he talked about his mom, he found himself back in Dean's arms.

It made him think of the times he had cried in John's embrace. Except now he was with Dean and that made all the difference. Dean who had lived with him for a year, Dean who had been his dad, no matter what Mom had said. Ben had felt it long before John had proved it but it hadn't really mattered then and it didn't matter now. Dean had always been his father. He sniffled hard; he was sure that Dean had loved him once.

"Shhh." Dean said quiet and low, so much like John. For someone who seemed determined to be someone different than his father, the similarities were obvious to Ben. "I've got you, Ben." Ben knew it was true and that thought settled him.

He'd missed Dean something fierce, even when he didn't _know_ he'd missed him.

"Why'd you do it Dean?" Ben wasn't accusatory, just questioning.

Dean obviously knew what Ben was talking about. "C'mon, let's sit outside."

Dean wrapped his arm around Ben's shoulders and led him out to the front porch. Night had fallen and it was cool, so Dean kept his arm around Ben. It felt good.

"I was trying to protect you." Dean spoke quietly.

"Winchesters seem to be big on protecting everybody." Ben noted wryly remembering John's words to Dean. Then he looked at Dean. "It seems like everyone is trying to protect me, but no one is asking what I think about that."

Dean sighed. "That's true, but I very well couldn't ask you if you wanted to forget me. I made what I thought was the right decision. I thought it would cause you and your mom less heartache. I figured if I was out of the picture you and your mom would be safe." Dean dropped his head, but then met Ben's eyes, his gaze steady. "I was wrong."

Ben nodded, "I got it, I guess…but how could _you_ just forget _me_?" Ben thought he sounded brave when he said it. He was pretty sure he didn't choke on the words.

Dean, however, almost did. "God, Ben. I never forgot you. Not once. You? Your mom? You guys were the best thing that ever happened to me. I just…I just couldn't think of hurting you anymore than I already had."

"You never hurt me." Ben's voice didn't quake. It didn't.

Dean dropped his head. "Ben, I hurt you and I brought hurt to you. Because of me your mom is dead and you've been put through Hell. I'm so sorry."

Ben looked at Dean, dark eyes meeting green. "Dean, you didn't kill Mom, a demon did," Ben said honestly. It was the only way Ben knew how to say it. Dean didn't say anything then, he just pulled Ben in a little tighter.

"You look so much like her," Dean said softly after several minutes had passed.

"Yeah," Ben replied, his throat tight, "People told me that all the time. Figured it was just 'cause they'd never seen my dad."

"Nah, you do. You have her eyes."

"I have some of you in me though. Or so John said."

Dean shifted. "He did huh?"

"Said I was as stubborn as you. And I have your smart mouth."

He felt Dean chuckle against him. "What a legacy."

Ben smiled and said softly, "I kinda like hearing it."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. A little while later, Dean dropped a small kiss on his head. It should have made him feel a little goofy but it didn't.

"We'll figure this out Ben. You, me, Sam and…"Dean struggled for a moment with the right word to use, "your grandfather."

"Okay, Dean." Ben laid his head on Dean's shoulder and there in the warmth of his father's arms, outside on the front porch of a cabin in Whitefish, Montana, he fell asleep.

XXX

When Ben awoke he was inside on the couch, covered in blankets. It made him feel like a little kid to know that Dean must have carried him in and swaddled him blankets like a baby. But it was warm and he had been cold. So he just lay there in the warmth of the blankets and listened to what was going on around him. He figured that was the only way he would ever get the real picture anyway.

It was easy enough to discern who was who. John's low rumble, Dean's voice just a little less rough and Sam, biggest of them all spoke with less growl than either his father or brother. It was almost as if he'd learned to modulate his voice to keep the intimidation factor of a six foot four giant down to a minimum.

"He doesn't need you, Dad." That was Dean.

"And what is your rationale for that?"

"Because Sam and I don't need you." There was a huskiness to Dean's voice that Ben couldn't recognize.

Ben thought for a moment Dean's statement might be a problem, but it obviously wasn't.

"Good, then I taught you well."

"Taught us well? Dad, all you did was push and push and…" Dean stopped then, voice guttural and trailing off with emotion.

Ben heard John's sharp intake of breath. "You're right, I did. But I'm glad I did."

Then Ben heard Sam. "But Dad, there is so much you didn't tell us. So much we should've known."

"What? Like Azazel? Like Adam?" His grandfather's voice was like ground glass, "Like admitting I failed your mom in every way possible? Christ, I had to live with that and him everyday."

"Him? You mean Adam? You had to _live with_ him? Like he was a stray cat that you couldn't get rid of?" For the first time since they came to the cabin, Sam's voice took on that Winchester trademark growl.

"No, Sam. He_ was_ your brother. I cared about him. Adam I should have raised differently, but not you and Dean. I was trying to respect Kate's decisions as his mom. I should have known that would never work out." Ben peeked through a tiny space in the bundle of blankets and watched as his grandfather ran a hand through his hair. "Adam was a physical reminder that I let Mary down. Hell, I let you boys down. I don't expect you to understand."

"Dad, we would have understood." That was his father. "No one expected you to be a monk."

Then John spoke again. "Maybe not a monk, but your mother was my wife and I loved her. I never forgave myself for Kate, although, _God_ I needed her then." John spoke softer. "If it had been a one night stand, well, I could have justified it, but it wasn't. I saw Kate a half dozen times before she got pregnant. I cared about her."

"Nice to know, Dad. Really. Thanks." Dean was getting angry again, Ben could hear it in the throaty growl.

"You know, Dean. I really never expected to have this conversation with you boys."

"Obviously, you never expected to tell us a lot. Not about Adam, or Azazel or anything else you knew about when you knew it. Sam used to say it all the time, that Marine 'need to know crap'. Well you know what Dad? _We needed to know_."

"Hindsight's 20/20, Dean. I was planning to take that evil sonofabitch out long before he ever got to you boys. Things just didn't turn out the way I planned them."

"Which is all the more reason to have let us in on some of it." Ben watched as his father ran a hand over his face, a tell that spoke volumes. "What was it? Did you think we couldn't be trusted? Did you think we couldn't handle it? Did you think** I** couldn't handle it, because you know what, Dad? We handled it and a helluva lot more." Dean's voice rose sharply.

John's voice appeared to drop in direct relationship to Dean's increasing volume, "I know. But at the time, I just…I just didn't want you to have to know any more than you needed to. I wasn't sure you were ready for everything that I needed you to be ready for. I didn't think it was _safe_ for you to know. And I sure as hell didn't need you to be second guessing everything I did."

"Me? Second-guess _you_? I did whatever you told me to. I never stood up to you? I followed your orders all the time? Dad's little blunt instrument." Dean muttered the last phrase.

John quirked an eye at Dean, puzzled, "Huh?

Sam, too, apparently didn't get the reference.

"Nothing, Dad. Nothing at all." Dean jammed his hands in his pockets, face flushed with anger or maybe something else.

John dropped his voice a notch lower, "Dean, I'm not sure what you remember but you stood up to me all the time."

Dean, "Like when?"

"Like every damn time Sam wanted something. Soccer, extracurricular activities, fucking Lucky Charms. You bucked me on everything."

Sam flapped his arms in exasperation, "Great, drag me into it."

Dean ignored his brother. "And that was wrong?"

"No, Dean. I didn't say that. It was right. _You _were right. You were doing exactly what I told you to do."

Dean laughed then, but it wasn't a pleasant sound, "So again…I didn't 'buck you' I did what you wanted. I followed your orders!"

Ben didn't get why this was so important to Dean. But it was; he could hear the slight hitch in his father's voice.

John took a breath. "Okay, point taken." John thought for a minute. "What about when you were grounded for stealing my damn whiskey and you snuck out, took the Impala and tried to hook up with that Candy girl?"

"You remember that? Dad, I was like fourteen." Dean protested, sounding like he was _still_ fourteen.

"Exactly, and you were stealing booze and driving without a license."

"And who taught me to drive and steal?" Dean came back, this time with the conviction of an adult.

Sam interrupted. "I think you two are missing the big picture here."

Through Ben's blanket peephole he saw both Dean and John turn to Sam, almost startled to see him there.

"Dad, Dean normally did follow your orders, and Dean, you didn't follow all of them. Remember those stolen fireworks on the Fourth of July? Dad said to stay low, keep our heads down. Your exact words were _Fuck him_. I'm pretty sure that that was a three-alarm fire, Dean. "

"Pardon?" John looked truly baffled at this last story.

Dean glared hard at Sam. "That one he didn't know."

Sam shrugged. "Until now." And then he grinned. Apparently, his uncle was enjoying this more than his father was.

John muttered almost to himself, "Maybe I don't want to know anymore. Never mind the supernatural shit - Christ, it's a miracle you two didn't kill yourself with _normal_ kid stuff."

Dean chuckled low. "Ah Dad you don't know the half of it…and Sammy," Dean pointed ominously at his brother, "He ain't gonna know anymore either."

Sam arched a brow at his brother but kept his smile firmly in place. John grinned just a bit and suddenly there subtle change in the room.

Ben curled back under the covers. Maybe this Winchester stuff would work out all right.

XXX

Ben woke to early morning sun coming in through a dirty windowpane. There was a scrap of material at the window, more for privacy than for aesthetics but Ben found it allowed enough light in. The sun was warm on his face and around him were the quiet movements of breakfast being made.

Dean was at the propane stove with an iron skillet and the smell of pancakes hit Ben so hard that he bolted up from his covers.

Dean smiled a bit as he turned, "Hungry?"

"Starving. Gotta pee though."

"There's a working bathroom – sort of –but if it was me I'd step outside."

Ben sighed. "Okay."

Dean sat the last pancake in a pile on the stove and started to follow Ben out the door.

"Dude…private space."

"Ben – what if?"

Ben turned firmly toward Dean. "I can take a whiz by myself."

Dean backed up arms raised in universal defeat. "Well, watch where you are peeing; there's a patch of poison ivy near the cabin."

Ben nodded and stepped outside. He carefully avoided anything that even looked remotely like poison ivy opting to pee in the dirt along the side of the cabin. He looked around wondering where his uncle and grandfather were. A quick zip up and another look proved nothing so he headed back in.

"Where's Gramps and Uncle Sam?"

Dean almost choked. "Did you say, _GRAMPS_?"

"Well, I gotta call him something and 'John' is pissing him off."

"I might run that by old 'Gramps' if I were you." Dean laughed a bit.

"Sure – why not? What about Sam? Do you think he cares if I call him Uncle Sam?"

Dean looked carefully at Ben. "Nah, that's cool."

"What about you?"

Dean dumped a pile of pancakes on a cracked plate and set it in front of Ben. He swallowed hard and then turned away back toward the stove.

"What do you mean?" Dean said carefully his back still away from Ben.

"I mean…can I call you Dad?" Ben watched as Dean's shoulders hitched a bit. But Dean turned back around, solid as ever. "I mean, I'm okay with calling you 'Dean.' It's just that, I dunno…." Ben dropped his head feeling the warmth of a blush from his neck to his cheeks.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. If you're not too upset by it." Ben's voice trailed off a bit.

Dean smiled then, leaned over and ruffled Ben's hair. It should have pissed him off but it didn't.

"Sure, Ben. Dad is fine by me."

XXX

It turned out _Gramps_ was fine with Gramps. John had muttered something about how Ben had better never underestimate him, and if he ever expected to find old Gramps in a rocking chair with a glass of lemonade he was barking up the wrong tree. Sam and Dean had laughed. Whether it was the thought of their father in a rocking chair or just him being Gramps, Ben wasn't sure. But it felt good to hear them laugh.

Sam had dropped his head and grinned when he heard "Uncle" for the first time but he hugged Ben something fierce. It turned out being hugged by his six foot four gargantuan uncle was more of a wrestling match.

And Dean? Dad? Well, he just smiled just a little and for the first time it seemed to really reach his eyes.

It was all good.

XXX

"Well, boys," John spoke in a tone that made Sam, Dean and even Ben turn toward him.

Ben noticed that both his uncle and his father racked their shoulders back. It wasn't overt but it was there, an automatic muscle memory that made them both stand up straighter. It kind of pissed Ben off that John could do that.

_Crazy ass military vigilante family_.

But they were _his_ crazy ass military vigilante family and Ben figured it would all work out somehow.

"So, we have to brief on how we are going to kill this sonofabitch." John settled himself, ass to the wooden counter.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"It's after Ben. It's still after you boys. We have to stop that demon before it finds you."

"Dad, you are talking one demon, Sam and I have killed dozens, hell maybe _hundreds_ since you died. We have Ruby's knife. We've learned some stuff. I can't believe I'm saying it, but after the Leviathan, one demon seems like chump change."

John glared at Dean, "Don't underestimate this demon, Dean. It's a low level demon, but that's one of the reasons it's so dangerous. It's primitive, driven to kill, and it has no alliances…not with other demons or angels. It doesn't care about that kind of stuff. It's mission is to kill Ben. That is it. It makes those demonic pit bull Daevas look like poodles and Ben has a pork chop wrapped around his neck."

"Well, Jesus, Dad that's a helluva visual." Sam croaked.

"Look, I saw it the afternoon it killed Lisa and almost got Ben. I've never seen something so vile. It doesn't use a human host; it doesn't need to. It doesn't need to possess anyone or anything. It just IS. And it is after your boy." John bore his eyes into Dean.

"So, we kill it. Ruby's knife—"

"Won't work. It's not like a regular demon. This is Baal's progeny. The lowest of the low and the only way for it to rise in rank is to kill the chosen one. Ben is chosen."

Ben looked sharply at John. "Chosen? What do you mean, chosen?"

"You know what, kid? You have a habit of jumping in on conversations that you don't belong jumping in on."

Ben glared at John. "Well, _Gramps_…it's my ass you are talking about, I think I have a right to put my two cents in."

For a moment Ben thought John was going to clock him one. "You need to keep your smart ass comments to yourself."

Dean interrupted, "Hey, Dad, that's my kid you're talking to. Let me handle him."

John visibly pulled himself together and sighed. "Fine." He said tightly and then turned to Ben, "You are Dean's son. In effect, you are the son of Michael. You are the continuation of our bloodline. A line that goes back to Cain and Abel. You hold the balance of evil and good inside you. If it kills you, or turns you, it ascends and with that ascension is the end of everything."

"How do you know all of this, Dad?" Dean asked, face flushed.

"Because I'm a Guardian Angel. I'm _Ben's_ Guardian Angel and my job is to protect him. I KNOW."

"We've been through the 'I am an Angel of the Lord', shit Dad and really you don't seem anymore intimidating than Cas was."

John stood and suddenly Ben thought maybe his father was a little crazy because John Winchester appeared pretty damn intimidating to Ben.

"Castiel was nothing like me. _Is_ nothing like me. He is not a Guardian he doesn't know what I know. The information I have is for a Guardian only. And because I'm Ben's Guardian I'm the only one who had the knowledge specific to _him. _And like I said, he's my grandson. I was given this job because _no one_ will fight harder than me for him._"_

Dean stood and met his father's eyes, as focused and driven as Ben had ever seen him.

"Except me."


	6. Shell Of Shotgun

**Chapter 5 – S**_**hell Of Shotgun**_

"Ben, you are going to stay here with Dad. He will protect you. You are as safe here as anywhere else. This cabin is sigiled out the ass; even the forest around it has been marked. Dad and Sam scouted and reinforced any breaks in Rufus' parameter. You are safe here."

"What do you mean, I'm going to stay here? It's after _me,_ Dad. This is where it will come."

"No, it won't because Sam and I will kill it before it gets here."

"I'm not going to stay here at this cabin while you and Sam go hunt for this Baal demon or whatever. Use me as bait. Bring it to us. I'm a hunter, just like you are a hunter. This is the only way to get it."

"You are _not_ a hunter, you will never be a hunter and I'm sure as shit not using you as bait." Dean's voice had an edge that cut the air, making Ben take notice, forcing him to change tactics.

Ben took a breath. "Okay, I'm not a hunter now, but I want to be and no matter what - doesn't it make more sense to bring it here so we can fight it on our terms?"

"What do you mean, _we can fight it on our terms? _You are staying here with your grandfather and that is that. You will fight nothing. You are not going to fight anything fucking ever and you are certainly not going to be a hunter." Dean's voice rumbled as low as John's but was as loud as Ben had ever heard him yell.

Ben rose with a humpf and headed out the front door. He opened it roughly and slammed it so hard that it bounced back open in the door jam. He stood on the porch a moment. He could hear his grandfather speaking with just a hint of humor in his voice. Only a Winchester could find humor in a situation that spoke of hunting and demons.

"I've been dealing with that attitude since day one. Old Gramps is sitting this one out."

That pissed Ben off even more and he stepped off the porch striding purposely down the small path to the woods. He had no idea where he was going and he had the tracking trailing skills of mole so he knew he wouldn't get very far.

From behind him he heard Dean, "Ben!"

Ben ignored him.

A moment later, "Benjamin!" That was an order all Winchester gruff and full of promise.

Dean had never called him Benjamin. Not once. His mom had called him Benjamin a couple of times, maybe even a few times when Dean lived with them. It always meant he was in Big Trouble.

He didn't care but it did stop Ben in his tracks. He didn't turn around though but stood breathing through his nose, trying to keep his temper in check.

"What do you think you are doing?" Dean came up behind him, his voice still gravel rough. But he didn't touch Ben, didn't offer a comforting hand to his shoulder. Ben wasn't sure if he wanted that anyway.

"I'm not going to sit around here and do nothing. You don't want me to be a hunter? You don't want to teach me? Fine. I'll find someone who will." Ben spat it out.

"Like Hell you will."

Ben turned around and looked at Dean, dark eyes blazing. "Watch me."

He turned around and took another step down the path. This time Dean's hand caught his shoulder and roughly turned him around, at the same time he popped him sharply on the ass. Just one slap.

"Hey! You spanked me!" Ben yelped.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Hardly."

"That's, that's, that's child abuse!" Ben sputtered.

Dean's suddenly grinned. "Nah, that just got your attention. Talk to your Gramps about spankings." Then his eyes got serious. He tugged Ben closer; Ben could smell pine needles and Dean.

"Ben we have to talk. Right now."

Ben wanted to sulk but Dean pulled him down on a log that sat conveniently on the edge of the path. "Sit. Please."

Ben sighed and settled himself more comfortably on the log. It really was peaceful, sitting with his hip next to his father, the slow hum of cicadas and nothing else around.

"Ben, I know you want to hunt. I was raised in this life. But I swore you wouldn't be."

Ben looked off into the forest, down the path. It was cool here under the trees. "Dad, that may be what _you_ want, but it isn't what _I_ want. Doesn't what I want matter?"

"No…I mean, yes. Yes it does, it's just that by the time I was your age, I 'd had nine years of training under my belt and even so hunting at thirteen was nothing more than an occasional salt and burn. Right now, things are so much harder, the stakes are higher. There is a demon after you and you are just a kid." Dean's voice was rough. "And not just any kid, Ben, you're _my_ kid. I want more for you than this. It's a tough life Ben. A hard life. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy and now my son wants to do it?"

"Not just wants to do it, Dad. I _need_ to do it. That thing killed my mom…it's coming after me. I'm not going to stand there at let it get me."

"That's what I'm here for, Ben. I'm your father. I'll protect you."

"And what if you leave again?" There really wasn't accusation in the words but he couldn't stop the tremble in his voice. Ben was a practical kid. Dean had left him before; he could again.

Dean dropped his head then followed Ben's gaze into the forest. "I will never, ever do that again." Dean turned back to Ben. Ben was the one to study the pine needles thick on the forest floor. Dean gently touched two fingers under his hand under Ben's chin and lifted Ben's face to meet his own. "Never."

Ben breathed a deep sigh shudder and allowed himself to lean into Dean. Dean pulled him close. Once again, Ben was filled with the smell that was Dean. Sweat and leather but oddly enough, not whiskey? The whiskey was usually there but now all he smelled was the forest and Dean's own unique scent.

"That's good to know, Dad. But it doesn't change anything. You won't be here forever and I'm not going to give up without a fight. You need to teach me what you know. What Gramps and Uncle Sam know. My last name may be Braeden, but I'm a Winchester, too."

Dean leaned his chin on Ben's head.

"Okay. Let's just say we do this. That I _allow_ you to do this. It's got to be on my terms. It's my way…all the way. You follow my orders. You follow Sam's orders. Hell, you even follow Gramps' orders. No more stomping off when something doesn't go your way. It's important, Ben. I can't protect you if I'm worrying you're gonna jump ship all the time. It's not perfect but it's the only way I know to keep you safe. And you are _not_ going to be bait. But, I'll consider that us trapping it before it gets to you might just work."

Ben sniffled once. "Agreed." Then he amended. "This following orders stuff is with regard to hunting right? You are gonna start ordering me around for the hell of it?"

Dean grinned. "What, like fetch me a beer or something? Nah, I've got Sam for that."

XXX

Ben knew he was not actively involved in the planning of the trap. He was okay with sitting on the sidelines. But it felt good to be in the small kitchen with these three men, his family. He watched how they moved together. The Winchesters were a team, they were a little rusty maybe since the arrival of John but whatever head-butting they had going on before seemed to disappear with the common goal of keeping Ben safe.

There were maps and books but mostly there was just John. In John's head was the information they needed and both his father and his uncle fell into an easy camaraderie with John leading and them following. It wasn't all one sided by any measure, both Sam and Dean added info, offered ideas and contributed to the plan easily.

Sometime during the night Ben fell asleep on the chair, his body wrapped in the Indian blanket.

Ben awoke in the early morning, at least that's what he thought. He could hear birds chirping although it was still dark outside. Maybe five o'clock he figured. Not that it mattered. He could see his uncle's huge form on the couch, boots still on and snoring lightly. Ben smiled to himself. His uncle looked like a little kid in a huge body.

He could hear his father talking low to his grandfather.

"What do you know about…well, about what happened down here while you were gone?"

"Enough."

"What's that mean?"

"It means, I know enough to know that you boys both went through Hell. I know about Sam and his stint in the cage. I know about you and the torture. I know it all."

There was a pause then and a sudden intake of air. In the quiet of the cabin it was easy enough to hear. He was pretty sure it was Dean. "So all of that garbage about you being the only one who knows all about Ben is an understatement. You know about all of us."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

There was a pause in the conversation. For a moment, Ben thought maybe that was it, that they were finished talking then he heard Dean's voice low and soft.

"I'm sorry, Dad. Sorry, I let you down."

Ben heard a gruff cough. This time he wasn't sure if it was Dean or John.

"You never let me down, neither one of you did. I could have done without Sam's jonesing on demon blood, but he did it with the best of intentions. And I would have given anything to have saved you boys from the pit. I thought I had but I was wrong."

Ben tried to connect the dots in his brain. Dean shared very little with Ben about hunting. Ben had thought Sam was dead, although Dean never really said that. After…when Sam came back, Dean was gone mostly. He'd never really discussed any of it with Ben and Ben never pried. It was Dean's secret to keep. Or to share. Obviously sharing with Ben was not going to happen, it seemed it was hard for Dean to even share with Gramps. Even Sam maybe, because Sam's soft intake and exhale of air was that of a man in deep sleep.

No, this was something Dean wanted to talk about with his father. It made Ben feel skeevy to be listening, but he was in the same room with them and short of getting out and walking outside he was going to hear.

"But Dad, you were down there for so long. You never broke. I did and—"

John interrupted Dean. "Enough Dean. What's done is done. You did the best you could do. You and Sam saved the world, isn't that enough?"

"No, sir. No it isn't."

In the half-light he saw the form of his father as he turned toward Ben. The shadows fell over Dean's face and even though Ben knew he couldn't see him, he resisted the urge to close his eyes and pretend he wasn't awake.

"Dean." This time there was steel in his grandfather's voice. "You did fine. I'm proud of you. Of both of you." Then Ben could hear a softening of Gramps' voice. "And no…there's no demon talking for me."

Dean chuckled low then. "Yeah, I guess not."

There was quiet then, both men seemingly content in their own thoughts. Then John reached over to Dean in a motion that appeared both careless and intentional and pulled Dean in to a hug. Just a curl of arm over shoulder but even from his vantage point, Ben could see his father's shoulders tighten and then relax. There was a moment then, father and son in a rough embrace where Ben heard a whispered word or two but then just quiet. Then, as if by some unwritten Winchester code, father and son stepped back from each other. Ben listened for a bit longer, but they weren't talking anymore sohe curled up tighter and went back to sleep.

XXX

When Ben woke again, it was full on morning sunny and bright. Only Gramps was in the cabin though. It was a little disappointing not to see Dean but Ben was sure he was around somewhere.

Gramps turned to him and as if reading his thoughts said, "They're out scouting. They shouldn't be too much longer."

It occurred to Ben that he wasn't the same kid he was six weeks ago. He'd had a mom but no dad. He'd lived a normal life, for the most part. He had played with his friends, he'd listen to his iPod, he had played videogames. Ben was normal. Hee played on a baseball team. He went to school.

And although he missed his mom fiercely, for some reason, this new life – so profoundly different from how he'd once defined 'normal' – felt right somehow. Like it was meant to be. The missing puzzle piece in everything had been Dean. Now that Dean was here, he would be all right.

He glanced out at the shoddy window to see his father and his uncle making their way across the front area of the cabin. They were deep in conversation, his uncle towering over his father and then his dad reached over and cuffed Sam sharply upside the head. Sam smiled and rubbed the back of his head good-naturedly. Then his uncle hip checked Dean, a move that should have had them both on the ground but apparently it was nothing Dean hadn't been expecting.

They moved easy together, cat-like and purposeful, despite the roughhousing and in no time at all they were at the front porch.

"Yeah, like you never paid for it, Sam. I know damn well, I didn't." His father stopped the conversation when he saw Ben and if he didn't know any better he'd swear his dad was blushing.

"Hey, kiddo…finally awake, huh?"

"Yeah. And starving."

Dean turned to John. "What is it with this kid and starving? All he does is eat and sleep."

"Just like you at his age. He's a teenage boy. Got a freakin' hollow leg."

Dean grunted.

"Your day for breakfast, Samantha." Dean headed over to where Ben sat still wrapped in blankets. "Chop, chop. We got a hungry boy here." He spoke over his shoulder to Sam.

"You sleep okay?" Dean asked.

Ben nodded.

"Good." Dean slung his arm around Ben a movement that reminded him of John and his father earlier this morning. Ben couldn't help but allow himself to rest in the lee of his father's arms.

Dean let his hand dangle over Ben's chest. It felt comfortable and safe and for the first time in a long time, Ben felt almost good. Suddenly Dean reached abruptly toward the amulet round Ben's neck. His hands found it deftly where it had nestled warm against Ben's chest.

"Where'd you get this?"

Ben stuttered with the rough sound of Dean's voice. "I…I'm not sure, Gramps gave it to me. He said it was important."

"Dad?" Dean demanded. It was just one word but John got it.

"You don't need it anymore. Ben does."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Have you always had a mouth like that? 'Cause you know, I don't seem to remember putting up with too much of that when you were a kid."

"News Flash, I'm not a kid now, Dad, and I asked you a question."

John's voice turned dark. "And I answered it."

Ben didn't get it; the significance of what was going on or anything really. Sam stood in the kitchen with a bewildered look on his face as well.

"If it bothers you so much, here, you take it." Ben started to take the amulet from around his neck.

"NO!" John bellowed and Ben stopped in mid pull.

For a moment Ben was stunned. John had only yelled like that once and that was when he was in the house with the demon. It had startled him then and that was only his voice, this time he almost shook with the force of both it and the presence that was John.

Then softer but urgently, "Don't take it off, Ben. You need it. I need it. Without it I can't help you."

"Huh?"

"That amulet is tied to Dean, tied to me and yeah tied to you. I can't stay here unless you have it so please, keep it on."

Ben tried to remember when he got the amulet, how it had appeared one night cold against his chest. He dialed back his memory to the hospital, Carl and the nut house. He'd thought it had been one of the kids who had given it to him but that wasn't true and he remembered figuring that out pretty early. But obviously there was a connection between it and John. Just nothing he'd ever thought of before. Except for that one bellow in the house when his mom had been killed, it wasn't until the amulet was safely tucked against his chest that John showed up.

How could he not have figured it out?

"Is it possessed or something?" Dean ground out. "'Cause Sam and I both know that what's dead should stay dead. Keeping you with Ben or you wanting to stay – well, that can't happen just because you want it to. Just because _we _want it to." Dean's voice sounded strong with conviction.

Ben watched as Sam and Dean exchanged glances. He wasn't sure what they were saying, but they both obviously agreed.

"Give me the amulet, Ben."

Suddenly, Ben realized what Dean was proposing.

"No. It's mine. You can't have it."

"Remember what I said, Ben about orders? Well, this is an order, give it to me."

"No." Ben stood up his right hand on the amulet. He needed it. It felt good around his neck and if the amulet gave him John, well, so be it.

"BEN." Dean barked, sharp and staccato. Ben backed up and almost tripped over the Indian blanket chair.

"No. It's mine. John is mine. You can't have it and you can't have him. It's not my fault that you guys screwed up your relationship or whatever. Mine is just fine. John and I get along. He helps me and he's my grandfather and my guardian angel so you can't have him."

Dean spoke quietly then. "Ben, if Dad is possessing that amulet, it's not a good thing. Possession never is. Even when it feels good. Even when you _want_ it to be." Dean choked the last words out.

Ben sat hard on the edge of the chair with a decidedly ungraceful thump. "He helped me get here. He taught me things. He yelled at me. I _need_ him." He felt a sob escape his throat unbidden and raspy.

John spoke quietly from behind Dean. "Dean's right, son." Ben met his eyes over Dean's head. "It's not right and it's not natural, but right now it's all we've got. "

"Dean." John spoke. Sharp and brisk and so command like that Sam and Dean turned toward John. "You can have the amulet back. But not until this is over. I need to be here for this. I need to be here for Ben." John took a deep breath. "I need to be here for you boys."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. Sam pursed lips but nodded briefly.

"So the Guardian Angel thing is bullshit?" Dean asked.

"No, no of course not. It's just this isn't the natural order of things."

Sam muttered low. "When is it ever, where we are concerned?"

"Look, I'm Ben's Guardian…I am. It's just that I'm more than that. Ben needs more than that. There is more at stake than just one boy. But, I need the amulet. It helps bind me to Ben and if you hadn't ditched it, it would have helped bind me to you."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No. God damn it, Dean." John spoke, exasperation in every syllable. "When did you become so damn difficult?"

Dean countered irritably, "Since my father sold his soul to a demon, some of my best friends were killed, me and my brother went to Hell and the world almost caved in around us. So yeah, I've got a bit of chip on my shoulder. Fucking deal with it."

Ben thought it might be wise if he could sit this one out. Unfortunately, there was no where to sit it out. There was Rufus' cabin and the front porch and from the volume of yelling even the front porch wouldn't be safe. So instead, he folded himself on the floor hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

For a moment he considered Sam. Sam seemed like a good choice. Tall, strong and Ben figured when the punches started he would make a fine safety zone. Instead he pulled the Indian blanket down over himself, wrapped himself up in it as if it would shield him from the noise and the yelling.

Sam even seemed a bit perplexed at the verbal exchange between father and son. But it was Sam who stopped it with a sharp, "Dean! Dad! Will you take a look at Ben?"

They both turned to Ben and in the quiet aftermath of the yelling Ben just wanted to crumble under their gazes.

"Jesus, Ben, I'm sorry." Dean approached Ben like he was a skittish colt. "God, I'm sorry." Ben unscrunched the blanket enough to see his father crouched down in front of him.

"Dad, I can't lose Gramps. I can't lose you." Ben spoke softly. And he was crying damn it. He was crying and he didn't care. He was just a kid.

Just a step behind Dean, John stood suddenly deflated and less imposing than Ben had ever seen him.

"Ben, we're gonna figure this out." Dean soothed, voice low and modulated, "You, me, Sam and Dad. You aren't losing anyone again anytime soon."

"Promise?" Ben almost didn't want to say it; he didn't want to hear the answer.

"I promise. But listen kiddo, this is kind of uncharted territory. I'm not sure what's gonna go down – well, down the road."

"Okay."

Ben let the blanket fall away, lower on his body as the tension leaked out of the air around him. Dean didn't move closer, though. As if he was afraid to touch him. He saw his father's eyes resting on the amulet around his neck, and, afraid of re-instigating the fire between Dean and John, Ben's eyes sought his uncle's, looking for help.

Sam lifted his chin; he got the message. Clearing his throat, his soft voice grabbed Dean and John's attention, turning their eyes from Ben toward him.

"Ben, your Gramps tell you where that amulet came from?"

Ben shook his head; he felt rather than saw his father set back on his heels, as if bracing himself. He sniffed, working to dry up the tears that seemed to flow from an unending source.

"I gave it to your dad. For Christmas one year. When we were kids. He was just about your age, in fact."

Ben looked at Dean; his father's eyes were on the ground. Ben couldn't catch this expression and wasn't sure if could figure it out if he had.

"I got it from," here Sam faltered, his voice cracking slightly, "a friend of ours. For your Gramps. But…."

"Dean needed it more," John broke in. "It's for protection, and your Dad, kid, he was so busy protecting everyone else around him…he needed something watching out for him."

"Did you have a Guardian Angel, too?" Ben asked, eyes on Dean.

Dean pushed to his feet and turned away, one hand on his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. "Not exactly."

Sam crouched down next to Ben, his knees popping with the motion, his eyes steady and serious. "Ben, there's a lot of…history, here, that you're not going to understand. And nobody here expects you to."

"I just gotta follow orders, that it?" Ben snapped, his emotions tangling with the confusion and fear Sam had so accurately pin-pointed.

Sam glanced up at his brother and Ben saw a small smile tip up the corners of his uncle's mouth. "Yeah. Sometimes? That's it. Believe me. I know how much it sucks. When Dean first told me the truth about all of this – why we always moved around, why Dad was always gone, why we didn't have a mom…I was…I was really angry. And scared. And I didn't want to do anything he told me to…pretty much _just because_ he was the one who told me the truth."

John huffed out a bemused sigh and Dean sagged, shaking his head, but this, Ben understood. He understood it with an acuity that had him shifting to face his uncle fully, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

"Why is it bad, Uncle Sam? That the amulet's possessed?" _Why can't I just keep John with me all the time? Why can't we all just be a family? You were just starting to get along…it was just starting to feel _right.

He couldn't bring himself to say the rest, but he could see in his uncle's eyes there was a level of understanding that came with living through whatever Hell John had referred to earlier. Sam frowned and he glanced up at Dean again, not willing, it seemed, to be the one that Ben was angry with just because he'd told him the truth.

Ben followed Sam's gaze and looked up at his father.

"Dad…_please_. Please, I gotta know."

"Ben," Dean started, his voice sounding tight, ancient, and so, so sad. "It don't matter if the intention is a good one – when a spirit possesses an object simply so that it can remain corporeal and stay in the world beyond its lifetime…things happen. The spirit gets…angry. Resentful. Dangerous. We've seen it happen." His eyes shifted to Sam and a pained look crossed his features. "It happened to the man who gave Sam that amulet."

Ben reached up and rubbed at the warm metal. He looked at his grandfather. "But…you're an angel, right? I mean, it's different for you, isn't it?"

John sighed. "I wasn't lying to you, Ben—" he started.

Ben narrowed his eyes, finally seeing what had twisted his father up so much in the arguments he'd witnessed. "But you didn't tell me the whole truth, either."

John shook his head. "No. No, I didn't. Humans…can't become angels. That's not how it works. But, the job to be your Guardian _was_ open, and it only works with a blood connection. Without the amulet anchoring me here, I'd be…," he glanced at Dean, his dark eyes inexplicably sad, "a whisper in the back of your mind. Something that compels you to do something. Somebody in your dream. I wouldn't be _here_."

With vivid clarity, Ben suddenly remembered the voice that had propelled him from the room the night he'd walked in on the mangled body of his mother and the horrendous creature that'd killed her. It had sounded like the person had been right next to him – but he'd been alone. Or so he thought.

"Ben, I just…," Dean started, his voice tight. He cleared this throat. "If this," he waved his hand between John and Ben, "goes bad…I want it to fall on me. Okay? Not you."

Ben looked at Sam. "You gave this to my dad?"

Sam nodded. "He never took it off. Not once. He—" His voice cracked and he looked down. "There was a time when I had to take it off of him. But, I held it for him and when he was able to, he wore it again."

There was a story there, Ben realized, filing it away under: _questions to ask later._

He looked over at his father. "So, why don't you have it now?"

Dean laughed weakly, dragging his hand down his face. "It's a long story. And I was, uh…going through a hard time. I…threw it away."

Ben looked down, nodding. Thinking. The room was silent. _My last name might be Braeden, but I'm a Winchester, too._

"Gramps," he said, watching as John's head popped up, looking directly at him. "You're tied to this, right? And to whoever is wearing it?"

John frowned, but nodded.

Ben pushed himself to his feet, the Indian blanket pooling around his ankles. Sam stood up next to him. They were all staring at him. He felt his heart pounding but didn't stop talking.

"And, Dad, your plan for trapping this Baal thing…it involves me staying back here with Gramps, right? Where I'll be safe, and he can protect me because he's corporwhatever?"

"Corporeal," provided Sam, a smile in his voice as he'd apparently jumped to Ben's endgame before Dean and John had.

"Uh…yeah," Dean nodded, stepping away from the couch, his green eyes darting between his son and his brother, clearing asking _what the hell_?

"So, I keep the amulet until we get that thing," Ben proposed, his voice only shaking a little bit, "and then…we can figure out what happens next."

John chuckled. He slid his eyes to the side, catching Dean's. "He's your kid. No doubt about that."

Dean was frowning, but Ben could see it wasn't reaching his eyes. "I don't know, Ben…."

Ben turned to his father, squaring off. "You said to me…you said we'd figure this out. You, me, Uncle Sam, and Gramps. You said that."

"I know I did."

"So…let's figure it out, then. Follow your plan." Ben stepped a little closer to Dean, both of them tense, like live wires. "It's a good plan, you said. I'll stay back here where you want me to. I swear, I won't go storming off. I'll be safe, here, with Gramps."

Dean looked at Sam over Ben's head, then his eyes skipped to his father, softening, it seemed, with a desire that Ben found he could acutely recognize. It was the need to have someone wrap their arms around him and tell him it was going to be okay. It was a need to have someone at his back.

"What if…, Dad, what if you—" Dean started.

"I haven't so far," John countered. "And this isn't…spirit possession, Dean. This is an actual _job_. I'm supposed to be here."

Dean looked at Sam again, and Ben twisted, watching his uncle's face. An entire conversation seemed to transpire in that look and Ben felt the years of partnership between these two blend and meld and wrap all four people in the room into a safety net of understanding.

"You're right, kiddo," Dean said softly, reaching out and resting a warm, comforting hand on Ben's shoulder. "We will figure it out. I'm not letting you go," he pulled Ben in toward him, Ben's face pressing against the soft flannel of his father's sturdy chest. He turned his head to the side, leaning against his dad, and watching as Dean looked at Sam, then at John. "And we've got work to do."

Sam grinned in response and John nodded, looking down, his whole face relaxing with a secret, quiet smile as he did so.

Ben knew Dean was right: they didn't know what was going to come down the road. There was a demon after him – despite a sigil-covered forest and cabin – and his family was not going to let it get close. And when that was done…there was no telling what might happen with John. If he'd leave, come back, be a voice in his head, or a figure in his dreams.

All Ben knew for sure was that he had a family around him. A _family_. And no matter what the road held for him, as long as they were around him, nothing bad was going to happen.

Ben didn't know how long John would be with him. Didn't know how this fight would end. But he had the amulet and he had his family.

He was good.

end


End file.
